


Out of Time

by destinies



Series: Timeless [1]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: (a really long time ago), Alina Starkov is Still a Sun Summoner, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Cold War Elements, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, Past Character Death, Politics, Suicidal Thoughts, the difficulties of being married to a villain when you have a shred of morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 100,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies
Summary: Alina Starkov expected to wake up on a ship sailing across the True Sea, one that would take her far from Ravka, far from the Darkling and his mad crusade. Instead, she awoke in Os Alta to a devastating truth: the war was won nearly a century ago, her first love was dead, and she remembered nothing.Not even that, as part of her surrender, she agreed to a political marriage.
Relationships: Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Series: Timeless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003410
Comments: 1367
Kudos: 1035
Collections: Grishaverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to finally share this fic with all of you! First, some housekeeping notes:
> 
> This story was written for the 2020 [Grishaverse Big Bang](https://grishaversebigbang.tumblr.com/), which meant I got to work with some lovely artists: [HouseOfFinches](https://houseoffinches.tumblr.com/post/628075402993319937/out-of-time-destinies-the-grisha-trilogy), [Lady-Ekaterina-de-Mika](https://lady-ekatherina-de-mika.tumblr.com/post/628083601228070912/alina-starkov-for-the-grishaversebigbang-our), [Veneziarts](https://veneziarts.tumblr.com/post/628072029923475456/alina-and-the-darkling-for-grishaversebigbang) and [ZrSio22](https://zrsio22.tumblr.com/post/628074141404332032/an-evening-at-the-ballet-this-is-my-piece-for-this). I also had the honor of working with [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkofthemoon) as a beta, who is consistently fantastic and a fabulous writer in her own right — check out her stuff!
> 
> If you want, you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic) and [Tumblr](https://destiniesfic.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Finally, although it's canon-divergent, this fic will eventually incorporate elements from the _Six of Crows_ duology (a couple) and _King of Scars_ (a good few, though they're pretty jumbled up), so if you want to remain as unspoiled as possible for those books, I recommend reading them first. If not, read on. Thank you, and enjoy!

The first time I woke up, I thought I was dreaming.

He often invaded my dreams on the ship that was supposed to bear Mal and me across the True Sea to a new life in Novyi Zem. A life where we could be whoever we wanted — except ourselves. A life that would be free of him.

So it was ironic that he haunted my dreams then, just as he haunts them now. I had left the Darkling behind, maybe even to die on the Fold, yet here he was looking down at me with night-black hair and slate-grey eyes, with his sharp, beautiful face. It was so familiar, the way he cupped my cheek in his hand.

In my usual dreams, I leaned into it. I let him brush his fingertips over Morozova’s collar and call forth the power that lived within me, the blaze of light. I let him do whatever he wanted.

But when he touched my cheek now, all I did was freeze.

His hand was warm.

“Alina,” he whispered.

I stared back at him. I was no vessel. I could think. I felt my heart speeding behind my ribs, the blood pulsing in my ears, numbness in my fingertips. I felt that I was lying on something soft. Felt his breath feathering my cheek. The night pressing in around us.

“This isn’t real,” I told him, as if saying it would make it true. “You’re not real.”

He sighed and looked over at someone I couldn’t see. “Again,” he said.

Before I could ask what that meant, I dropped like a stone.

* * *

Some people found sleeping at sea to be easy. I never did. Not because of the crash of the ocean, or the constant rocking as the ship coasted on the volatile waves, but because of the dreams. I knew them so well, but that one had been different.

I was relieved to find myself in my hammock belowdecks with Mal’s arms around me, his voice against my ear.

“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re all right.”

I barely registered his words as I shook against him. Our cabinmates were probably glaring. I tended to talk in my sleep. “It felt real,” I whispered, pressing my face to his neck.

“What happened?”

I shook my head. I knew well that Mal wouldn’t want to hear about the Darkling.

“That bad, huh?” he asked with a forced chuckle. Although I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, I knew he was frowning, even as he stroked a steady hand up and down my spine.

“It’s nothing,” I assured him. “You’re right. I’m safe. Just another dream.” I pressed every part of me that I could, every awkward, bony part, into his body, trying to find comfort in his presence. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” His hand stilled, and he kissed my hair. “Do you want to try to sleep again or should we call it?”

“I can try,” I said quickly. I didn’t need to be the reason we _both_ slept badly, even though Mal hardly seemed affected by how poor the food we ate was or how little sleep we got. He was as at home on the sea as he was anywhere else.

Now he settled back into sleep quickly, his breathing evening out into a gentle, familiar pattern. It took me longer to relax, rocking in the hammock, listening for his heartbeat. Eventually, I slept too.

* * *

The next time I awoke I only knew my head was pounding and the bed beneath me was much too soft. A too-familiar voice, harsh and cool, asked, “When?”

I stirred, but my eyelids were too heavy.

“Soon, _moi soverenyi_ ,” said another voice, unfamiliar, both placating and terrified. “She should awaken any minute now.”

_I am awake_ , I thought. _I can hear you_. But I wondered if it would be better not to wake at all.

Still, I blinked my eyes open. I had to see where I was. I had to know.

Sunlight streamed through the windows. I was in a canopied bed. The sheets were white and clean. Three Corporalki hovered at the foot of the bed, looking like they wished they could be anywhere else. To my right was another Corporalnik, older and clearly more senior, watching me with keen interest.

To my left was the Darkling, shockingly lifelike in his black _kefta_. This time, he kept his hands to himself, although one rested near my left side on the duvet. There was a strange bracelet on my wrist, I noticed for the first time. It looked like it was made of overlapping scales, and I saw no clasp. So not a bracelet—a fetter, a shackle. One meant to never be removed.

“Alina,” he said.

“Where’s Mal?” I asked.

His face contorted unflatteringly, but even that wasn’t enough to make him truly ugly. Cruel irony. “Put her back under.”

“Wait—” I reached out and grabbed his wrist, careful to touch him over his _kefta_. “Wait. How did I get here?”

The look he gave me was almost despairing, which made no sense. “You’ve _been_ here.”

“But.” I blinked. The decor around me was fine, as it had been in the Little Palace, but I didn’t recognize the room. “Where is here?”

The senior Corporalnik approached me with one hand outstretched, but the Darkling held his up, palm-out, without looking at her. “You’re in Os Alta,” he said to me.

My heart sank. How was that possible? After Mal and I had abandoned Ravka—our home—had there really been nothing to stand in the way of his taking the city? Had there been no one? “How long was I asleep?”

For some reason, that made his expression soften. “Two months,” he said quietly. “We had thought—”

“Two _months_?” I tried to sit up, but there was barely any strength in my body. “Where is he? What have you done with him?”

The Darkling nodded to the Corporalnik.

“Don’t you dare—” I began, putting my hands up, prepared to fight.

I wasn’t given the chance. I was gone again before I could summon a single sunbeam.

* * *

We were curled up in our hammock. The world around us rocked as the ship was tossed by uncaring waves. I could no longer feel the damp cool of the ship’s hull, nor the warmth of Mal’s arms, the strength of them, and that’s how I knew that this place was the dream, the other one real.

“Alina,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. “You have to wake up. You’re screaming.”

I shook my head. The ship shuddered around us, groaning, threatening to break apart. I could hear a distant boom of thunder. Was this a nightmare? It wasn’t much worse than the waking world.

“You’re not there,” I told him, voice breaking. “You’re not there. I can’t find you.”

“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling back so he could look at me. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. It was white. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll always find you.”

“But—”

“No matter where you are,” he continued. “I can find anything, remember?”

Thunder crashed outside again, closer now. The wooden boards around us trembled.

Mal looked at our tiny, fragile room, then at me. He touched my face, the cheek that the Darkling hadn’t touched, and I leaned into his hand, trying to summon the memory of his calluses.

“You have to wake up,” he murmured. “They need you.”

“Who does?” I asked.

“Everyone.”

* * *

“Mal,” I insisted when I surfaced again, grabbing onto the embroidered sleeve of the nearest Corporalnik. “Where is he?”

“He’s resting,” she assured me. “Be _calm_ , _moi soverenyi_ , and sleep.”

I sank back into the bed. Her grey hair and the few crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes gave her an air of authority, and her voice had something behind it, a honeyed thickness that made me think sleep would be welcome. I barely even noticed the strange way she’d addressed me.

Besides, I now had an answer about Mal, something no one seemed willing to give me before. And resting was good. Resting wasn’t dead.

“All right,” I said drowsily. “I’ll just—”

My head hit the pillow. I didn’t fight sleep when it claimed me.

* * *

I wanted to tell Mal what _I_ needed, but he didn’t return to my dream.

There was only me on the sinking ship, standing in water up to my ankles, watching as the world fell apart.

* * *

When I woke up, it was day again.

To my great relief, the Darkling was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a lone Corporalnik sat in the armchair he had occupied the last time I saw him. I tried not to move too much so I could take in my surroundings. I wasn’t in my room at the Little Palace, although this one was equally grand, if not grander. The bed seemed far too big for one little Sun Summoner.

The Corporalnik on duty, who had his nose in a book, was not much older than me. He might even still be in training. I didn’t recognize him from my time with the Second Army, but it was probably a little much to ask that I remember everyone.

Slowly, I shifted, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping his book in surprise and leaping to his feet. “ _Moi soverenyi_ , you weren’t supposed to wake for—”

I couldn’t understand why this man was showing me any sort of deference if he was with the Darkling, but I would probably get further by playing on it than I could in fighting outright. There would be fighting later. “I would like to leave the bed.”

“A-Alright, but I’m supposed to—” He glanced desperately at a bell over my nightstand.

“ _Please_ ,” I said firmly. I couldn’t let him call for anyone else.

He nodded and scurried over to offer me an arm. I slid across the mattress to him. I hadn’t thought about what I was wearing, and was relieved to find it was a plain nightdress that floated around me, white but opaque. I leaned heavily against the young Corporalnik and pushed to my feet.

I had supposedly been in bed for two months, but my body felt much as it always had, with a few notable exceptions: a dull ache at my shoulder, the weight of the fetter at my wrist. As ever, I was not especially hardy, but I wasn’t an invalid either. I put one foot in front of the other, almost strong enough to walk without his help. What I could see of my skin looked pale and paper thin. I watched the sunlight, dappled from branches outside of my window, dance across the backs of my hands.

To answer my unspoken question, the Corporalnik said, “We’ve been stimulating your muscles so your body didn’t think— that is— so you wouldn’t lose muscle tone entirely.”

“Good,” I said, almost to myself. “And I’m sorry about this.”

“Sorry about what—”

I brought up both my hands and called the light to blind him.

The Corporalnik gave a yell and stumbled back, releasing me. He clutched his hands to his face. Hopefully he would be seeing spots for as long as it took me to get away.

I staggered to the door, somehow managing to turn the knob and fall out into the long hallway. Then I clutched at the wall, trying to get my bearings. This was a high, vaulted hall, like no part of the Little Palace that I had ever seen. Behind me, I heard one of the palace servants give a startled yell, the crashing of a tray. I couldn’t think about that. I had to get out of here.

With one hand on the wall, I started forward, until my blood started really pumping and I remembered how to run. To my surprise, nobody tried to stop me. At least, not until an alarm bell rang a minute later.

Breathless already, I pushed myself harder. The hallway, its marble floors spotless, seemed to stretch forever, but I saw what seemed to be sunlight again through heavy double doors at the far end. I reached it just as I heard the patter of soldiers’ boots on the floor and hurled myself outside.

The sunlight, my erstwhile ally, blinded me for a moment. I took a few errant steps off the path and found damp grass under my bare feet. Bringing a hand up to shade my eyes, I realized why nothing was familiar.

I had only visited the Grand Palace a handful of times, but it seemed diminished in a way I couldn’t quite explain. The Darkling’s banners were draped over everything. Half-crazed, I kept going, scanning for something familiar to latch onto, and that’s when I saw the dark shapes in the sky. I brought my hands up again, thinking they were volcra, thinking some shadow creatures had found their way here— and then I realized.

Ships.

The dark shapes were ships, impossibly high in the sky, and they, too, bore the Darkling’s symbol. The sun in eclipse.

He had won everything.

Something, an invisible hand, grabbed my ribcage and crushed it. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t breathe. Anguish poured out of me through my hands instead, making the palace grounds in front of me vanish in harsh, bright light. It was hot, hotter than I thought it would be, and after a moment my hair started to singe. But there was no stopping the torrent of light that this sort of loss unleashed.

I never knew grief could be blinding. I never knew grief could be white.

“That’s _enough_.”

A curtain of weightless shadow was cast over me, like a blanket smothering a fire. The light winked out, and I was left in punishing darkness.

Then it was gone, and the Darkling was there with his hands on my waist. “Steady,” he said. There was an edge to his voice that I could not place.

I couldn’t stop my trembling as I took it all in: the Darkling, looking much the same as he ever did with the exception of a few, barely-there scars. The singed lawn. The startled servants. The ships suspended in the air above, obscene in their shapes, bloated like pregnant bellies. And I did the only thing that felt right.

I fainted.

* * *

I awoke in the same bed with the Corporalki speaking quickly over my head.

“It’s difficult to say what would right it. The brain— neural pathways— everything is so delicate, _moi soverenyi_ , and there is much we don’t understand—”

“I don’t tolerate excuses,” said the Darkling, who was back at my bedside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise his hand.

“Don’t!” I cried out. I knew what would happen when he brought it down.

He startled at seeing me awake. Then, to my surprise, he listened. He dropped his hand without consequence, turning to look at me. In his eyes, I glimpsed profound grief before he masked it with a calm, impassive face.

“Of course,” he said, almost gently. “I forgot myself. Alina—”

He reached out to touch my cheek, but I flinched away. I wanted to fight him, to fight everyone, but I was wearing some sort of leather vest that plastered my hands to my sides. I was powerless.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped.

His eyebrows drew together, creasing his forehead. “Of course,” he said again, a soft echo. His voice hardened again as he spoke to the Grisha. “Don’t breathe a word of this until you find a cure.”

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” one said, bowing, and the two Corporalki scurried out, leaving us alone.

He watched me, sitting forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “How do you feel after that display?”

I would not give him the answer I knew he wanted — using my power restored me, as it restored all Grisha. I was still tired, but invigorated. I tucked my chin, looking down at the vest that bound me. “This seems like a little much.”

“You can’t be trusted in your current state.”

“Afraid I’ll run away?”

He frowned. “Afraid you’ll hurt yourself by trying again.”

“I think I know better.” I gestured using my head, since it was all I could use. “Besides, where would I go?”

“A fair point.” He eyed me for a moment before reaching across to gently undo the buckles, first on one side, then the other. I watched his hands, pale as ever, like they might bite me, but he kept his word and touched me as little as possible. I wondered what I’d done to earn any amount of his favor. It’s not like we parted on good terms.

When the last buckle was undone, he pulled the leather off. I hadn’t realized how constrained I was until I drew that first full breath.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

“Much,” I said, and then I lunged across the bed to try to scratch at his eyes.

The Darkling easily caught my wrists, one hand closing over the strange shackle. Cool, unbothered, he said, “You tensed. Your shoulders gave you away.”

I spat at his face, and he only sighed. His expression was usually carefully schooled to reveal nothing, but his eyes… there was no fury there. This was wrong. I was missing something.

“Fine,” I said warily. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.”

He released me so he could wipe at his cheek, settling back into the armchair. He looked tired. Wearier than I realized, I swayed, vision blurring, and slid back so I could prop myself up against the pillows. Grisha or not, I couldn’t expect to do much coming off of two months of bedrest. Weakness chafed, like the collar at my throat, like the strange bracelet at my wrist.

“What is this?” I asked, holding up my left hand. “A shackle to match my collar? Something else to bind us together?”

The Darkling looked at the fetter of golden scales, a little crease forming between his brows. For a moment, he said nothing. Then: “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

I turned my head away, unwilling to give him anything.

He sighed again. “You’re not here as a prisoner, Alina.”

“Then what am I?” I demanded, looking back at him.

This time there was no hesitation.

“You’re my wife.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I am your wife,” I said slowly, “ _and_ a prisoner.”
> 
> The Darkling’s lips pressed together in a rueful smile. “You ceased to be a prisoner long ago.”
> 
> “Then I can leave?”
> 
> He didn’t reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 2 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/628344140918325248/so-i-am-your-wife-i-said-slowly-and-a) on Tumblr!

The Darkling’s grey gaze didn’t waver as he spoke, searching my face for a reaction. For a moment I was paralyzed by the thought that it might be true, and then, remembering what a liar he is, I laughed. I laughed because it was so absurd and because he hadn’t come up with anything better, because I was either out of my mind or far removed from any life I knew, or both.

“Alina.”

My laughter ended abruptly in a hiccup, and I pressed a hand to my mouth. “No.”

His frown deepened. I thought I saw hurt flash in his eyes, but I doubted it was possible to hurt him anymore. This was an act, a show. It had to be. All he said was, “It’s true.”

“Oh, is it?” My voice was high, shaky. “When were we married? What anniversary are we on?” I held up my right hand. “No ring, either. Some marriage.”

He watched me for a moment, then reached into one of the pockets of his _kefta_ and pulled out a simple golden band. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger so that I could see it clearly. “I thought I’d keep it while you recovered.”

I stared, then shook my head. “That could be anyone’s.”

But it was too small for his hand, sized for fingers like mine.

The Darkling slipped the ring back into his pocket. I noticed for the first time that he wore a matching one. I remembered his hands bare, unadorned with rings or jewels. But now he wore the golden band on his ring finger and something like a signet ring bearing his symbol, the eclipsed sun, on his little finger.

“We were married ninety-nine years ago in the chapel on the palace grounds.” His voice was solemn. No trace of mockery. “It had only just been rebuilt after you brought it down on my head. Do you remember that?”

“You couldn’t come up with something more believable?” I asked, flatly.

“Than what?”

“Ninety-nine years.”

A little crease formed between his dark brows, but he didn’t seem surprised. “How old do you think you are?” he asked, with what I could tell was forced calm. “Eighteen?”

“Somewhere around there.”

“And the last thing you remember?” When I didn’t reply, he asked, “What harm is there in telling me, Alina? This is a civil conversation.”

“The last thing I remember is running far away from you,” I snapped. “The last thing I remember is hoping you died on the Fold.”

I was hoping for a reaction from him, but he just nodded distantly and mused, “I had thought that might be the case, although why then…”

“I don’t believe this,” I muttered, looking down at my hands.

“Which part?”

“ _All_ of it. That I’ve forgotten a century of time. That I’ve _lived_ for a century. That I’m your wife.” My lips did not want to shape that word. Again, I shook my head. “Even if the rest was true, I would never marry you.”

The Darkling cocked his head. “No matter how nicely I asked?”

I glowered at him.

“And yet you did.” He leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over his thigh. “Because you wanted the civil war to end as much as I did, and we were figureheads on opposing sides. It was part of the terms of your surrender, in exchange for the lives of your friends, among other things.”

“Let me guess, you killed them anyway?”

“That would have been a waste. You had useful friends.”

I began to grow cold. None of this sounded untrue; it would all be too easy to disprove if it were. His voice, his face didn’t change as he spoke. Although I was reminded again that he had a lot of experience with deception.

Although based on what I knew, how he’d treated me, his experience seemed to be in telling people what they wanted to hear. I didn’t want to hear this at all.

“So I am your wife,” I said slowly, “ _and_ a prisoner.”

The Darkling’s lips pressed together in a rueful smile. “You ceased to be a prisoner long ago.”

“Then I can leave?”

He didn’t reply.

I flopped back against the pillows. “Thought so. I want to see Mal.”

“In time.”

“No, _now_.”

His eyes swept from the crown of my head to my feet. “He isn’t here,” he said slowly. “And you’re in no condition to make the trip.”

I bristled, but he wasn’t wrong. The flood of power may have made me feel less like I was at death’s door, but I had already proven that I could only walk a couple of minutes without fainting. My limbs were leaden and achy. I was also unexpectedly hungry.

Still, he’d told me that Mal wasn’t here. That meant he was somewhere. He had to be alive. Hadn’t the Corporalnik Healer tending to me implied as much? So a hundred years hadn’t passed. The Darkling just wanted me to think I was isolated from everyone dear to me, that I had outlived all of my friends, but he backed down when I made it clear I didn’t buy it. Good.

“I’ll send for food and a bath.” The Darkling’s voice was gentle again. I don’t know why that rankled so badly. He stood from the chair, looking down at me. “We can speak again when you’re feeling more…”

“Myself?” I asked dryly.

He regarded me coolly. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”

I met his eyes, ready to call his bluff. “Hilarious. You never did tell me how I’m supposed to have forgotten this entire century.”

“There was an incident. You were—” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Later. I’ve burdened you with enough for one day.”

“So considerate.”

“I am not your enemy, Alina. What will it take for you to realize that?”

It was a ridiculous question. I raised both my eyebrows and said nothing.

The Darkling shook his head. “Time, then,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Only time.”

He crossed the room—which was larger than I realized—to a door at the far side, and paused there, with his hand on the doorknob, as if waiting for me to change my mind and call him back. Then, with one last look at me, he was gone. I heard the click of a lock sliding into place, his footsteps receding.

The tension left my body like the air from a balloon. I fell back onto the bed and found myself staring up at an elaborately vaulted ceiling, inlaid with gold. It was the kind of luxury I remembered from the Little Palace, but even more ostentatious. Which made sense, given what I knew about the Grand Palace’s previous inhabitants, but not as much sense when I thought about some version of myself living here. Certainly not for a century.

I peered around, taking in the space for the first time. It seemed like the furnishings were less gaudy than the ceiling. Instead of an elaborately patterned carpet, the floors were wood, covered here and there with rugs that looked simple and soft. The elegant furniture had been moved around so the Corporalki could better attend me, the low table and chairs pushed toward the walls, but I imagined that the large empty area that stretched in front of the bed could have served as something like a sitting area in front of the disused fireplace. An older armchair, faded by the sun and comfortable-looking, sat in front of the large window that overlooked the outside lawn, perfect for reading or daydreaming. My heart sank. That _was_ more to my tastes.

I couldn’t puzzle it out. It did seem like I’d spent some time here, but ninety-nine years? That felt impossible. If the Darkling wasn’t lying to me—a big “if”—I had already lived more than one mortal lifetime. No one I knew would be alive. Even if Mal hadn’t died young, he would be dead already. He was human.

Maybe I should have felt grateful that he wasn’t here to see this, but I didn’t.

The Healer had spoken like he was alive, though, and the Darkling said he was elsewhere. I had to hold onto the thin thread of hope that I was being led astray, that not everything was what it seemed. That I wouldn’t only ever see Mal again in my dreams.

There was a soft knock at the door. “ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” a female voice called from the hallway.

I blinked. The Darkling had deigned to share his title? “Come in,” I called.

The door opened and two attendants scurried in, wearing what seemed to be palace livery, but instead of the white and gold I remembered, they wore charcoal, like the servants in the Little Palace. They took a moment to be bewildered by the disarranged room, then they came to my bedside and gave small bows, eyes on the floor.

“The Darkling asked us to attend you, _moi soverenyi_ ,” one said. “We are most pleased to hear of your recovery.”

I barely kept myself from snorting and rolling my eyes.

But I had no idea how I was supposed to act toward them. I spent some time being pampered and primped in the Little Palace, but I wasn’t a queen then, just a peasant girl thrust into unusual circumstances. I remembered the airy, dismissive way the _tsaritsa_ had treated me and didn’t want to emulate that, either.

“A bath would be nice,” I said, clearing my throat. “And tea. And maybe something to eat?”

If I said something wrong, they didn’t let it show. Both nodded and bowed again. One vanished into the washroom to draw a hot bath, and the other left the way she came.

A few minutes later I was reclining in a steaming, scented bath with a little tray table within reach. It was laden with fruits and small honey cakes. I sipped piping hot tea while one of the servants washed my hair. I would have insisted on washing myself, but I’m not sure they would have left me alone even if I asked. After all of the effort spent on keeping me alive, the Darkling would want to stop me from drowning myself. Besides, my head was buzzing and I was becoming aware of just how tired I still was. Sleep should be the last thing on my mind after two months in bed, but the steam was making me drowsy.

“You have such beautiful hair, _moi soverenyi_ ,” the servant washing it cooed.

“Thank you,” I murmured. It seemed like an odd thing to say—my hair had never been special, not brilliant red like Genya’s, nor naturally glossy like Zoya’s. Saints, now I was going and missing Zoya. I took a plum from the tray and held it in my palm for a moment, feeling how it yielded slightly, ripe and probably sweet.

When I bit into it, I tasted nothing.

I sat in the bath until my fingers grew wrinkled, eating my snacks little by little, then allowed myself to be led away, warm and pliable and maybe in shock. I even let myself be wrapped in a towel, black with elegant gold embroidery. My hair was wrapped in a smaller towel.

But as they herded me back into the room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped in my tracks. A single lock of hair had escaped its towel-wrap, curling at the nape of my neck. It was bone white.

“ _Moi soverenyi_?” my attendant asked. I would never get used to that.

“I can dress myself,” I said quietly. “Please— you can go.”

I expected more protesting, but she simply bowed and left me to my reflection, staring hollowly back at me from the mirror. The instant I was alone, I snatched the towel off of my head.

Damp white locks fell around my shoulders. I leaned forward, clutching at them, feeling the wetness against my palms — it was real. Had this happened with time? With my supposed age? The Darkling’s hair was still black. Maybe he dyed it.

Strangely, the rest of me looked much the same as I always did. Maybe a little older, but only a couple of years. My skin tended to clear up when I let my power flow out of me, and my cheeks had more color than I was expecting, but on the whole I still looked sickly and too thin. Despite the color, my hair didn’t seem unhealthy, not brittle or too fine like it sometimes was. Genya—or someone like Genya—had clearly tended to it. I wondered if I would get to see her,

The only other marked difference was the ridges of scar tissue on one of my shoulders, or—not scar tissue, exactly. Areas of raised skin, spaced evenly apart, faded but darkened in places like some kind of strange infection. When I rolled my shoulder, it pulsed with the distant memory of pain. It seemed as though something had bitten me. I touched it gently and felt a strange pang, someone else’s longing.

I wouldn’t find the answers I wanted staring at my face in the mirror, but I stayed there for a minute, just looking, pinching the skin of my arm between my thumb and forefinger to prove I was real. The attendants had left fresh underthings and a nightdress folded on the bed, which I put on right away. My wet hair against bare skin left me chilled. On the nightstand was a glass of cold water, which I sipped as I looked around. As far as cages went, this was a beautiful one.

Unsure of where to start searching, I pawed through the enormous gilded wardrobe against the wall, one that had surely belonged to _tsaritsas_ before me. It didn’t seem like enough for a queen; I grew certain that one of the unopened doors over my shoulder was a closet. I pulled down garment after garment and found they were mostly black-and-gold _keftas_ , or things worn under _keftas_ , in different fabrics for all possible occasions and weather. Clearly this was daily wear. It wasn’t too different from the contents of my wardrobe in the Little Palace.

When I tried the door the Darkling left through earlier, it was still locked.

I kept searching. One of the other doors opened into a small studio with windows that allowed for a view of the palace gardens. The slanted drawing desk by the window I felt sure could only be mine. An easel with a blank canvas on it stood nearby. Fresh paints waited for me on a small wooden table next to the easel, full inkwells and a beautiful set of pens sat on the desk. While I was recovering, someone had stacked my drawings in a neat pile, taken the rolled papers and tied them with ribbon.

It almost felt like snooping to look through that stack of drawings — they might as well belong to a stranger. But I reminded myself that they were mine, and sat down at the desk, prepared to learn more about the person I had been. But when I spread out all of the papers, they were only landscapes: forests, mountains with white peaks, a grand waterfall, the view of the lawn out of the window in front of me. The hand that drew these was more skilled than mine, but if the Darkling wasn’t lying I’d had decades of practice.

Still, I frowned. There had to be more than this. I’d had my fill of mountain peaks drawing maps for the army. Where were the faces? I didn’t exactly excel at them, sure, but I assumed that the artist— _I_ —would want to memorialize the people close to me. The people who were no longer here.

There was no way I could have forgotten all of those faces.

I could fix it now, at least. I grabbed one of the pens and got to work.

* * *

“It’s not a bad likeness.”

I started awake. I had fallen asleep on the drawing desk, trying to remember the outlines of Genya’s perfect face. When I sat up, there were smudges of ink on the sleeve of my nightdress and probably on my cheek.

The Darkling was there, his hands clasped behind his back, studying the sketch of Mal I had finished earlier. He stood mostly in shadow, and I could not read his expression. Night had fallen. The only illumination came from the full moon outside, overlooking the green lawn and, beyond it, the wood that divided the Grand Palace grounds from those of the Little Palace, where the Grisha slept.

“Don’t touch him,” I snapped, snatching the paper away and moving it to the other side of the desk. I looked around for a candle to light but found none.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said mildly. “I came to check on you.”

I stood up and gestured down at myself. “I am fine, as you can see.”

“I do see that.”

“So you’re wasting your time.” I paced back into my bedroom to put some distance between us, but he trailed silently after me. “I want to see him.”

The Darkling sighed.

“I was told he was resting,” I pressed.

“In a manner of speaking.” His eyes were fixed on my face once more. “You kept upsetting yourself, Alina. I had to placate you somehow.”

My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the side of the bed. Inside me there was only void. “So—he’s gone.”

“Yes.”

I tried to focus on my breathing. I had to find a way to redirect my grief before it tore me apart. I looked up, livid. “Do you remember what I promised you the night before we went onto the Shadow Fold?” I asked, voice near breaking. “I said if any harm came to him I would fight you until the end of my days. I’ll keep that promise.”

“Who’s to say any harm did befall him? The boy was _otkazat’sya_. He may have died young, and he may have married a pretty farm girl and died in his sleep with eight grandchildren at his bedside. Either way, he would never have survived this long.”

“No, he died young.”

The Darkling gave me a curious look. “How do you know?”

“Because I never would have married you if he was still alive.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I was certain they were true. I had never been more certain of anything.

After a moment, the Darkling took a step forward into the moonlight. It was cruel irony that he was still beautiful, that he wasn’t as dark and twisted on the outside as that which drove him inside. “Yes, your friend did die on the battlefield,” he said, voice low. “But I had no hand in it. He was already dead when I reached you.”

The air left my lungs. “What?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

I shook my head. “What does it matter? If you didn’t then one of your soldiers did.”

“No, Alina.” He looked like he was about to take another step toward me, then thought better of it. One side of his face was still cast in shadow. “You told me yourself that his blood was on your hands.”

“You’re a liar,” I snarled.

“I am only relaying what I was told.” Something like sadness sparked in his eyes. “And I never judged you for it. Sometimes the paths we take necessitate great sacrifice, even of those we love. And though I never understood your fascination with that boy—”

“His name is _Mal_.”

“I knew the strength of what you thought you felt for him. I knew what it meant for you to make that choice. And still I never turned away from you. Someone… lesser might have been horrified—”

“Shut up!” I cried.

That stopped him. I imagined he didn’t get told to shut up very much. Eventually, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You can get out,” I said, seizing the glass of water. “You can _get out_!”

With the last of my strength, I hurled it at his head. To my surprise, he vanished just before it would have struck him, and the glass shattered against the wall instead.

I stared at the empty spot. A trick? An illusion? He had been here, I was sure of it. But for him to just vanish like that, without disturbing the doors or windows, was impossible. I couldn’t have invented the conversation we just shared in my head. Could I?

Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe this whole nightmare was a hallucination. But the feel of my own nails biting into my palms as I curled my hands into fists told me it was all too real. If it _was_ real, if even half the things he said were true, then I was a monster and a murderer, and Mal…

I let out a small hiccup and felt hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks. With nothing else to do, I curled up on the bed and cried.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must have had memories of all those years. There must have been some other me who mourned and made peace with—” I gestured at my surroundings, at him. “Bring her back. Put her back.”
> 
> “I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 3 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/628707545339625472/put-me-back-i-said-what-i-must-have-had).

That night I dreamed of Mal again, but we weren’t on the ship anymore. I was kneeling beside him in the sand, trying to stop the blood flowing freely from a wound in his chest. When I pulled my hands away, they were red and slick. His blood on my hands.

I pressed them back to his chest. “Please,” I whispered to him. Then I called around, the darkness pushing in on me from all sides. “Please. Someone help him!”

No help came. Mal rested one of his hands atop mine. “It’s all right, Alina.”

“No,” I sobbed. “No, you have to live.”

“It’s all right,” he said. He coughed wetly, and his chest rattled.

Then the world was lost in a blinding surge of light.

I woke up, shaking, the sheets soaked with my sweat. For a moment, I didn’t know what was real and what was fiction. I could feel the sticky warmth of his blood coating my skin, feel the grit of the sand that the frenzy of battle had whipped between my teeth. I choked out another sob.

It felt impossible for Mal to be dead. I had just seen him what felt like a few days ago. He had climbed all over the ship, so lively, so _alive_. He had charmed the crew, helped trim the sails, scaled the rigging. He had wrapped his arms around me, rested his chin on my head, listened to me talk until I wore out my voice. There was no way that he could be gone.

But at least some time had passed since my last memories. Even the Darkling couldn’t have built a fleet of flying ships in two months. I had definitely been the one to paint those landscapes, which would also have taken some time unless I had done it in my sleep. And that seemed unlikely. I was only a passable artist even when awake.

I felt sick.

Thank the Saints the bed was so large. I rolled to the other side, where the sheets were not damp and quickly cooling. From there, I found I could do very little. I couldn’t force myself to get up. I was so tired, but I didn’t want to sleep. I picked a point on the wall and stared at it until the wallpaper blurred, swirling in bizarre patterns.

When a servant came and set a breakfast tray down on the low table by my fireplace, I didn’t move to touch it. What was the point? Mal would never have breakfast, or crack jokes. The food would taste like dust, like the sand of the Fold.

Day trudged slowly into night. My untouched breakfast tray was replaced by an untouched dinner tray. A couple of nervous servants dropped by to try to coax me into another hot bath, but I was immovable, and eventually they left. I clutched my pillow tighter.

It was some time after nightfall that I became aware of a dark figure watching me from the foot of my bed.

Anger swelled anew within me. It was possible that I had killed Mal by accident. I remembered my mastery of the Cut as being shaky at best. Could I have hit him while aiming for someone else? The Darkling?

It should have been him. He should have been the one bleeding out in the sand, and Mal should have been the one to live.

“Go away,” I snapped. When I received neither movement nor reply, I reached over and wrapped my hand around the brush on my nightstand. It was gilded, with little jewels studding the back; too fine for me anyway. I held it up, like he was a fly I could swat.

When he spoke, his voice was calm. “As you must have gathered, I’m not really here.”

I raised the hairbrush higher, threatening. “So if I flung this at your face, it wouldn’t hurt?”

“I’m not sure.” He sounded thoughtful, like I had asked him to solve a riddle. “Maybe if it was still in your hand when you struck me. I’d rather you not test that.”

There should have been a retort here, something about how I would be happy to cause him pain, but I came up empty. I dropped the brush and my hand onto the bed. “Put me back,” I said instead.

“What?”

“I must have had memories of all those years. There must have been some other me who mourned and made peace with—” I gestured at my surroundings, at him. “Bring her back. Put her back.”

“I can’t.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t accept that.”

“I didn’t either. We tried for months. That’s why you were in a coma as long as you were.” He paused. “The Corporalki were reluctant to test the limits of your mind any further. They thought it might cause irreversible damage. Further irreversible damage. And I… was unwilling to lose what was left.”

I exhaled shakily. The limits of my mind. “What happened to me?”

“You were taken.”

Somehow that’s not at all what I was expecting him to say. “I was— what?”

“Taken. By the Shu. If their government is to be believed, by a rogue extremist group.”

“And you don’t believe their government.”

He scoffed. “They fear reprisal. Which will come, no matter what propaganda they spin. This was an attempt to unseat me.”

“Someone kidnapped _me_ to unseat _you_.” I raised my eyebrows. “You must think very highly of yourself.”

“It is widely believed that you’re the only weapon that can kill me.”

I stared at him. It took a moment for me to figure out the angle. “So… if I forgot all that time — how the war ended — I’d be willing to do that for them.” I looked down at my hand, which still held the elegant brush in a white-knuckled grip. They were right. I did feel fairly murderous.

“The plan was to clean you out entirely and reprogram you. At least, that is what I gathered between all of the screaming. It was not my best interrogation.” He smiled at me like we were exchanging pleasantries, not talking about my tormentors whom he’d probably had torn to shreds.

“But how could they erase someone’s memories? That seems impossible, even for Grisha. Even for _powerful_ Grisha.”

“With _jurda parem_ , it—” He caught himself. “That’s right. You wouldn’t remember _jurda parem_.”

I knew _jurda_ , the orange flower from Novyi Zem. The sailors on the _Verrhader_ would chew it to stay awake. I stared at him, nonplussed.

“It’s a chemical amplifier. Unnatural. An addictive drug derived from the _jurda_ plant that enhances Grisha abilities. Corporalki who consume _parem_ can take total control of a person’s mind. They can even make someone obey commands.”

A shudder rippled through me at the implication and at the disdain in his voice. “So they could tell me to forget, and I would?”

“They could work delicately enough to erase the pathways in your brain that made you remember. You were asleep for so long because we were attempting to restore them.” His tone warmed, and he rested a hand on the bed near where I lay. A peace offering. “We did as much as we could, Alina.”

I lay back down and turned away from him. “It wasn’t enough.”

The silence stretched out between us before he quietly agreed, “No, it wasn’t.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in defiance of him. When I opened them, it was morning again.

* * *

I lost count of the days that passed this way. I spent all day in my room; on the rare occasion that I got up and tried either of the doors leading outside, they were always locked. I picked at the food that was brought to me, no matter how fine or plain it was. At night, the Darkling’s phantom would come and sit with me, and I would studiously ignore him until he either went away or I fell asleep. Usually the latter, to my extreme annoyance.

At least sleep meant I saw Mal. If only I didn’t have to watch him die.

But one morning, I had a new visitor. Instead of the usual _otkazat’sya_ servants in their charcoal-and-gold, the woman who opened my door was Grisha. Her _kefta_ was a combination of colors I had never seen before, red with blue embroidery, but I knew what she was from looking at her. She was a tall girl who looked about my age—at least, the age I thought I was—with a long, dark braid hanging over one shoulder. With bright green eyes and a frankly enviable figure, she would turn heads in any room, even a room full of other Grisha.

This girl didn’t really resemble Genya, but they were cut from the same cloth nonetheless.

“ _Moi soverenyi_.” She bent forward in a seamless bow, hand pressed over her heart.

I sat up in my bed. “You’re a Tailor?”

She gave a slight frown. I realized I was talking to someone who had already met me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do in these situations, and I found I didn’t really care. To hell with how the Darkling might want me to behave.

“I don’t remember you.” Belatedly, I added, “I’m sorry.”

Shock flashed across her fine features, but not hurt. She bowed again. “My name is Natalia, _moi soverenyi_. I was told you haven’t been yourself after your—” She hesitated. “—your long illness, but I didn’t think…”

I scoffed. So that was the cover story. Neither exactly true nor exactly false.

Seeing this girl standing in the doorway, though, made me long for Genya. I hadn’t realized until this moment that I held out hope Genya might have survived those ninety-nine years. Grisha typically lived long lives. But I remembered that when the Darkling had lied and told me he was one hundred and twenty, he also said that even Grisha didn’t live that long. And if Genya had, I didn’t know if I would be allowed to see her.

But after what I’d learned, after knowing where her loyalties lay, maybe I wouldn’t want to see her either. I wish I remembered what came after, knew whether or not we’d made up.

Natalia would mind me for him, I realized with a pang. Like Genya had.

“I don’t really need a Tailor right now,” I said quietly.

When Natalia spoke, she had none of Genya’s self-assured flair. Her voice was quieter, more deferential. “I had thought if you were feeling better, I could escort you on a walk.” She paused, and added delicately, “In which case you would be seen by other people, and you should probably have your hair done up.”

I crossed my arms. I knew well enough that I still looked sick. “And if I don’t want to walk?”

She chewed her lip. Yes, this girl was much less assertive than Genya. Genya would have had me dressed and out the door by now. “Don’t you want to? You’ve been in here nearly a week, and you’ve always loved the gardens.”

It didn’t seem worth it to point out that it had hardly been by choice. I had no real interest in strolling through the gardens either way. I thought over her timing, then asked, “What did he have to say about it?”

“Who?”

“The D— ‘my husband.’”

She sighed. “The words he used were ‘strongly encourage her.’”

I flopped back onto my pillows. I had hoped she would say _No, of course he’s not your husband, that’s ridiculous,_ but the odds of that were pretty slim given the little I knew to be true. “Well, tell him I’ve been strongly encouraged. You’ve done your job.”

Natalia cast her eyes down. “ _Moi soverenyi_ , the people need to see you.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. So that’s what this was about. I wondered what kind of piece I was in the puzzle of his grand empire. Back—before, I had been an integral part of his plans. Surely it hadn’t taken him a century to find a way to work around me? Surely I wasn’t still indisposable?

Maybe if I left the room I would learn a little more. Besides, it couldn’t _hurt_ me to get some fresh air and exercise. From the looks of the oak tree that stood outside my window, we were coming onto autumn, and soon I’d lose the chance to experience good weather.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But don’t use that title anymore. Just call me Alina.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I chuckled. It was the first thing she’d said that hadn’t been smothered in quiet deference. “Yes, I’m sure. How long have you been my Tailor?”

“Three years.”

Three _years_. “We’re definitely past formality, then.”

Natalia gave me an appraising look. “You seem different.”

I sat up and started easing myself out of bed. “Good or bad?”

“...Good?”

“You don’t have to flatter me.”

She shook her head. “Just different. Do you want me to ring for a bath?”

“No, I’ll run it myself,” I said, waving her off. “But feel free to send for some tea. And maybe some breakfast. And whatever else you want. Literally anything.”

With that said, I scurried into the bathroom and away from the beautiful, docile girl who made me ache for the bold woman I’d thought of as my friend.

After I scrubbed the residual sweat from my skin, I dried off, pulled on the silk robe someone had laid out for me, and drew a breath before handing myself over to Natalia. She sat me in front of my vanity and began brushing out my hair. I studiously ignored my own reflection in favor of eyeing her Tailor’s kit. Like Genya’s, it had bits and bobs that she could borrow color from: flower petals, precious metals, even a gemstone or two.

“Did you know Genya Safin?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “She had a kit just like this one.”

The brush paused, but only for a moment. I could feel my hair beginning to dry, soft and moon-bright, under her hands. “I didn’t,” Natalia said. “But my predecessor was trained by her. Marya — she served you for many years.”

My shoulders slumped a little. More unfamiliar names, more unknown faces. I was a drowning woman with no rope.

In a whisper, Natalia asked, “Do you really not remember?”

I started to shake my head, but she held me in place. “No,” I said slowly. “There’s a lot that I don’t remember.”

Natalia brushed in silence for a minute, weaving threads of silver into my drying hair so it, too, gleamed. “Can I help? I may not have known you as long, but—”

“I hope it’ll come back with time,” I lied. I wasn’t sure I could trust the answers that came out of this skittish girl, who seemed almost afraid of me. Or, if not of me, then of my tyrant of a husband. Besides, my main questions were things like _What really happened to Mal?_ and _Is there any possible way I’m happy here?_

_Am I a tyrant, too?_

I doubted she had answers to any of those questions except the last.

I drank my tea as she worked my hair, pulling it into a simple but elegant chignon at the nape of my neck. Then she started on my face, mostly adding color to my cheeks to correct my unhealthy pallor. I had to keep myself from sighing when her fingers brushed over my face. It was weirdly comforting to be touched.

When she was done, I dressed in the simplest of the silk _keftas_ in my wardrobe. I found it slightly eerie how the ripples of black fabric contrasted with my white hair, and missed the blue and gold kefta I’d worn when I was learning at the Little Palace. But with no excuse to put it off any longer, I let Natalia lead me out of my room.

Our walk through the palace hallways to the garden was surreal. Everyone who saw me, mostly staff, stopped in their tracks to execute shallow bows when we passed. We were lucky enough to make it outside without anyone addressing us directly, but sometimes Natalia would whisper their names as we passed.

“Felix, deputy steward,” she told me in an undertone, when a man on the other side of the hall gave an exceptionally sweeping bow. “Although the servants are more careful around him than the chief steward.”

“Why is that?” I asked. I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do when people bowed to me. Wave? Luckily, a tight smile and a nod of acknowledgment was enough to send him on his way.

“It’s an open secret that he reports on them to the—” She paused, then spoke in an even lower whisper, like she didn’t want to summon them. “The secret police.”

Well, that couldn’t mean anything good. I looked after the man, who was, at that moment, watching both me and Natalia with thinly-veiled interest. “I hope we’re not friends.”

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” she said primly.

I wondered what it meant that a man with full access to the palace would report on his subordinates to the secret police and not the Darkling himself. Was it because he was _otkazat’sya_ and they had a different structure? I assumed Natalia reported directly to the Darkling. It seemed rude to ask her outright, although I was past being concerned with politeness.

But I decided to ask instead, “Are _we_ friends, Natalia?”

She stopped in her tracks and gaped at me like I had suggested we go holidaying on the moon together. “Friends? I— _moi_ —Alina, I—”

“Please, it’s fine,” I said, feeling mortified for both of us. “I was just curious.”

She ducked her head like she was deeply conscious of our height difference and fiddled with the end of her braid.

A hollow melancholy settled in my stomach. I didn’t know what Genya had been to me, but I had hoped we were friends, despite what the Darkling may have ordered her to do. It made more and more sense that Natalia and I weren’t that close. She said she’d been in my service for three years, and if I was truly over one hundred years old, I’d have little in common with a teenage girl. Especially one I knew would be reporting everything I did or said to the Darkling.

I wondered before if there had been any possible way my former self was happy here, but the more I learned, the less I could imagine it. Who could be happy living with secrets, among spies?

Luckily, the garden distracted me from my thoughts. It turned out to be a genuinely beautiful place, which surprised me; paved symmetrical paths winding through a large rectangular green, which was dotted by flowerbeds and small groves of trees. Natalia gently tolerated my stopping to smell rare orchids and peonies which seemed to be thriving in colorful bunches despite the lateness of the summer season. That was likely due to Grisha craft, although whether some Fabrikator had modified the soil or an Etherealki gardener kept the air warm and mild here, I couldn’t say.

I wouldn’t have imagined such a place existing in a world run by the Darkling, and wondered if it was a lingering remnant of Lantsov reign. I hadn’t exactly had the run of the Grand Palace’s residential suites. When I had to stop and rest, more often than I would have liked, I tilted my face up toward the sun and let it warm me.

We turned down another path, and I found myself standing between two rows of apple trees, just beginning to yield mature fruit. At the end of the lane was a shallow stone pool, the surface of the water dimpled only by an errant fallen leaf. I took a long breath. The air seemed clearer here somehow, tinged faintly with the sweetness of apples. I decided that I liked this part of the garden.

“Who planted these?” I asked, my voice oddly raspy. I leaned up to touch one low-hanging bough, running my fingers over the leaves, cupping one still-green apple in disbelief.

After an awkward pause, Natalia said, “I believe you did, but it was a long time ago.”

“So I did at least one thing right.” I rocked back onto my heels. My chest felt full and empty at the same time, like someone had pumped air into it and left it to deflate.

She looked over at me. “Did I say something wrong?”

“What?”

“Your eyes…”

I pressed a hand to the hollow beneath my left eye, frowning when I felt moisture there. My fingers came away damp with tears. Quickly, I wiped my face on my elegant sleeve. I had no idea why I was crying.

“I think I’ve had enough nature for one day,” I said.

Dutifully, Natalia led me back to my room. I guess enough of the palace staff had seen me, alive and whole and something close to well. Before she left, she told me to ask for her if I needed anything at all. I didn’t hear the scraping of a key in the lock when she closed the door.

Maybe I did have a friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then why not come find me yourself? Why send a phantom?”
> 
> “Is that what I am?”
> 
> I turned on my heel and brought my hand down to his chest, thinking it would pass straight through him. Instead, it thumped as if against warm, solid flesh.
> 
> “Our connection is stronger than that,” he chided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @reylographer on Twitter made a beautiful moodboard for this fic [here](https://twitter.com/reylographer/status/1304149427209359361) and I am still not over it!! Thank you. ♥
> 
> Graphic for chapter 4 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/628980759519199232/then-why-not-come-find-me-yourself-why-send-a).

The trip to the gardens had left me exhausted and hollow, but I wasn’t about to waste a chance to explore my surroundings. Escape wasn’t on my mind — in the Darkling’s palace, in his city, in his country, I wouldn’t make it far without allies and resources — but I could at least learn a little more about where I was being kept.

I couldn’t walk around the palace looking as I did, in an elegant black-and-gold silk _kefta_ that made me feel like an ornament. The halls would be crawling with servants at this hour. I would have to wait until night to make any kind of move.

I stripped out of my _kefta_ , leaving it a puddle on the rug, and went into the bathroom to wash my tearstained face. After a few seconds of debating whether to ruin Natalia’s excellent work by taking my hair down, I decided I had to. Waiting for my dinner tray in a nightdress and perfectly coiffed hair would definitely arouse suspicion.

My plan was to fluster the maid bringing dinner so badly by actually answering my door that she would forget to lock it. It mostly worked. When the evening knock came, I sprang up to open the door before she could. Upon seeing me, she nearly jumped.

“Oh! _Moi_ —”

“I’ll take that, thank you,” I said, holding out my arms for the tray.

“Well, I,” she began, nervously. Her eyes flickered to the bureau where she normally left the tray. But I made myself a wedge in the door, so she had no choice but to hand it over. Then I stood there, giving her what I hoped was a benevolent smile, so she could not lock me in.

“Good night, then,” I said with false pleasantness. “I’ll leave it outside when I’m done.”

“Yes,” she said, bowing. “Of course.” And she set off down the hall, though not without a glance over her shoulder.

Knowing I would have to work quickly, I took the tray over to the bureau and abandoned it, tossing my nightdress over my head and setting about finding something else to wear. Out of curiosity, I opened the last door leading out of my room, then closed it. That closet, equal in size to my luxurious bathroom, was full of dresses that were clearly for state occasions, glittering black and gold and silver things. Contemplating it all left me lightheaded.

I returned to my wardrobe, rummaging through it for anything that might make me less conspicuous. It seemed like the long, almost tunic-like blouses I was used to wearing under _keftas_ had fallen out of fashion. Instead, there were sleeveless tops made of light cotton for summer, and full-sleeved knit shirts for winter. The breeches were much the same. Enough pawing and I found a stiff thigh-length wool coat and a black silk scarf. The coat was warm for early autumn, but it was the least flashy piece of clothing I owned.

It was a weird thought. None of this felt much like mine.

Then again, I’d never owned much. My clothing at Keramzin had been donations or hand-me-downs, handed down in turn to smaller children. My army uniform was the government’s property, my _kefta_ belonged to Little Palace. Maybe this wasn’t so different.

I tied the scarf around my white hair, pulled the collar of the coat high to hide the antlers at my neck, and left my room, closing the door behind me with care. I wouldn’t pass for staff, but at least I looked like neither a Grisha nor a queen. My first instinct was to stuff my hands in my pockets, but I thought that might make me look more suspicious. I left them by my side and tried to stand up straight, like I belonged here.

What did I know about the Grand Palace? It would probably be a mistake to assume it was exactly like the Little Palace, a square building that would circle me back to my room. Or, even if it was, it was much larger, and I probably wouldn’t find my room again for some time. I had no idea where I was in relation to the throne room, or the grand ballroom where the winter fete had been held. My best guess was that the private rooms were at the back, which I recalled from when Genya had snuck me into the queen’s suites. Those rooms had been on the second floor, though, and I was on the first.

I turned down another grand hallway, marveling at the width of them, the height of the ceilings. In here, I could sense the Darkling’s personal touches. I remembered him telling me how much he’d hated this building the first time I ever saw it, so it was ironic that we had ended up living in it, and I guess he’d made himself at home. The floors were black marble, shot through with white veins, interrupted by diamond-shaped white tiles at regular intervals. Many grand carvings and statues remained, but I saw empty pedestals and wondered if those were where past tsars had stood. There was no trace of the characteristic Lantsov double eagle in the carvings on the walls; it had been replaced, alternately, by a sun in eclipse — the Darkling’s symbol — and an unobscured sun, brightly blazing.

My breath caught. Could that be mine? _It had to be_ , I thought. Who else could it possibly belong to?

The servants coming and going didn’t seem to have much attention to spare for me, and I continued on unhindered. I passed a couple of small courtyards and many closed doors. At one point, this palace had no doubt been filled to the brim with royal relations, their children, their courtiers. Now it seemed quiet, almost a mausoleum. A liminal space, with one foot in Ravka’s past and an eye toward its future.

Suddenly I heard the clap of several pairs of boots on stone, and I froze. That sounded far more official than the lone servant scampering to and fro. I backed behind a column, wishing I, too, had the ability to make the shadows swallow me up.

Maybe it was my imagination, but they seemed to leap to obey my thought, draping over me just as three figures turned the corner.

I exhaled. None of them were the Darkling. I recognized Felix, whom Natalia had identified as the deputy palace steward. A ring of keys jingled in his hand. He was accompanied by a man in a wool coat not dissimilar to mine which flapped open to reveal a pistol holstered at his hip. This man escorted — well, dragged — a third man, with what seemed to be a burlap sack over his head, his hands clapped in irons. He stumbled every second or third step and lurched from side to side like he was trying to keep his balance on a ship’s rolling deck. Drugged, I realized.

“It’s not convenient, having it here,” the armed man said. Maybe this was a member of the secret police. Outside of his clothes, I found him fairly nondescript, with plain, unremarkable features.

“My understanding is that he likes to keep it close,” said Felix. “What are the charges?”

“The usual. Attempted murder, political pamphleteering, resisting arrest.”

“What did he actually do?”

“Who knows? Maybe it was murder. Maybe he eyed the wrong man’s wife. It doesn’t matter, and it’s no business of yours.”

Felix grunted, then gave the drugged man a push. “Go on. We don’t have all night.”

The odd group passed me and turned the next corner, their voices growing fainter. Nothing they said had made sense to me. Keeping _what_ here? What sort of punishment could only be doled out in a palace? I stepped out of the shadows, opening my mouth, thinking to make myself known to them. If I really was queen, they would have to answer my questions.

“You’re not in your room,” a cool voice said.

I jumped. The Darkling stood on my left. I hadn’t heard him approach me, and though he looked lifelike enough in his black-and-gold kefta, with his inquisitive gaze, I was skeptical.

“And you’re not really here,” I retorted.

He nodded. “You’re learning. Why walk these halls, Alina?”

“I like the exercise,” I snapped. “And if what you say is true, this is my home.”

“It is.”

“Then it’s my right to explore it.”

I didn’t tell him my real reason. I wanted to avoid my room. Even though I had spent most of my time in my bed, too exhausted and melancholic to move, I dreaded sleep. Mal died over and over again in my dreams.

The Darkling appeared to consider this. “Now that you’re feeling better, I’ll have Natalia give you a tour.”

I bristled. “She’s a Tailor. She must have more important things to do than mind me.”

“‘Minding you’ is the highest honor there is.”

“Then why not come find me yourself?” I challenged, and kept walking. He kept pace, although he was too shadowed for me to tell whether his legs were moving or whether he followed me like the moon would through the window of a moving coach, always staying in sight. “Why send a phantom?”

“Is that what I am?”

I turned on my heel and brought my hand down to his chest, thinking it would pass straight through him. Instead, it thumped as if against warm, solid flesh. I blinked, too shocked to do anything else.

“Our connection is stronger than that,” he chided.

“You can feel this?”

“Yes.”

I pulled my hand back like he’d scorched me, rubbing my palm. “Fine. It still doesn’t count. Why a— projection?”

“You wanted company, but you didn’t want me. Not physically.” He shrugged. “This seemed like a compromise.”

The barest of compromises. I snorted. “I _want_ to see Mal, but you wouldn’t give him to me even if you had him.”

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed, almost pleasantly. “As you may have gathered, I dislike sharing you.”

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” said a servant, coming into view as she stepped _through_ the Darkling. I pressed my hands to my mouth to stifle a scream. I hadn’t even heard her approach. “I believe you’ve taken a wrong turn.”

I looked at the servant, then at the Darkling, who raised an eyebrow and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t you—” I began, but didn’t bother finishing. It was clear that she neither saw nor heard him. So I looked the gibbering invalid again, talking to myself. I swallowed.

“Maybe I have,” I allowed, with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Please,” she said, gently taking my arm. “Come with me.”

The Darkling gave me one final insufferable smile, then vanished. I craned my neck, looking down the hallway where the three men had gone, but there was no trace of them now. In the few seconds I had, I tried to memorize the juncture so I could return to it in daylight. Then, truly weary and sick of games, I allowed myself to be led away.

* * *

The next morning, Natalia arrived bright and early just after my breakfast tray. “The Darkling has left this morning for the Shu Han front,” she announced. “He told me you wanted to see the palace?”

I had been exploring my tray, realizing for the first time how strange it was that I was given pastries and fruit instead of the gussied-up peasant fare we’d all been served in the Little Palace. If I had to, I would bet real money that the Darkling and his Grisha still ate pickled herring and rye every morning. He was spoiling me.

I picked up one of the flaky, layered pastries and began shredding it with my fingers. “You’re here to make me beautiful again.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“If that’s what my _husband_ wishes.” I was in no mood to be charitable.

She flushed. “M— Alina, the might of the country depends on the strength of its rulers and their union.”

That was gross, but she seemed to believe it sincerely. “So I can’t be seen looking sickly or there will be questions.”

“There have already been questions with you gone from public view for so long,” she said quietly, coming to sit on the small upholstered stool that stood in front of my vanity. “They speculate that you fell ill, yes, but those who know Grisha don’t get sick speak of an assassination attempt, a terrible miscarriage—”

I choked in the middle of swallowing down a slice of plum. “ _What_?”

“People believe what they want,” she said, looking a little dismayed, like I might blame her for my extreme reaction.

This girl clearly was the wrong target for my anger at the Darkling. I shook myself all over, and sighed. “How long will he be gone?”

“I’m not sure. A few days, maybe. He did say he would be too busy to call you, but that you shouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” I said coldly. “Call” me. Is that what he termed it? Still, I might earn more privileges by playing by his rules while he was away, however uneasily that sat with me. “Fine. Do your worst.”

“Oh—”

Saints, she was skittish. “I meant make me pretty.”

Natalia relaxed. “All right. But you’re already—”

“Natalia, you don’t need to flatter me.”

She fidgeted with her tailor’s kit, which she balanced in her lap. “I’m not trying to. I just think that…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “You’re a good canvas. That can’t be said for everyone.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, warming to her a little despite my black mood.

After I was appropriately coiffured and pinkened, we set out around the palace. She recommended that I wear my soft leather walking boots, and I quickly found out why. The Grand Palace was even larger than I thought. There was an entire third story that I hadn’t seen yet, although since we didn’t have a large extended family and the Darkling preferred the first floor rooms, it sat mostly empty. Walking through it was like walking back into the world I knew, which unnerved me. Natalia said most of it hadn’t even been set up for something called _elektris’ye_ wiring, which I gathered was the strange technology that made the lights in my room work without flame.

I lapped this floor with her quickly, resolving to come back when I felt homesick, but right now I was restless and eager to find out what it was I had unwittingly stumbled into last night. In the daylight, though, I found the first floor corridors hard to recognize. I nodded along as she pointed out the Darkling’s apartments, which sat adjacent to mine, even though I felt a chill at how _close_ he had been to me this entire time.

At last, we came to the juncture where I thought I had seen the men go. It was a smaller hallway that branched off one of the large main halls, tapering southward and ending in a pair of thick double doors. “What’s down there?” I asked.

She frowned. “Just the kitchens.”

“That’s all?”

“The door to the old wine cellar is nearby somewhere, but it was bricked up a while ago.”

Promising. “Why?”

“There isn’t as much cause for drinking as there used to be.”

“Really? In Ravka?”

Natalia paused, and, with a nervous, fluttery laugh, added, “The palace servants said it was haunted.”

I laughed too, but hollowly. “I’d like to meet a ghost,” I joked. “Maybe it’s someone I know.”

She shuddered. “I wouldn’t. But it’s just superstition.” Then, she brightened. “Since we’re near the kitchens, would you like to lunch outside?”

We picnicked on the rolling green lawns, a pair of servants delivering us a blanket and basket. There was a surreality to sitting under placid blue skies, spreading currant jam on warm, freshly-baked bread, cutting small pieces of goat gouda, when it seemed like just over a week ago I was running for my life away from all of this. I still couldn’t eat much. I had the sickening feeling that my world was fraying, that I was close to seeing the seams of it.

The ships in the sky were far-off today, distantly circling vultures. When I asked Natalia about them, she said, “They’re here to protect the capital from bombs.”

“Bombs?” I repeated, disbelieving. I looked back up at them, shielding my eyes from the sun. “From the sky?”

“The Fjerdan airships and Shu Han flyers are faster than ours, but they don’t have Grisha. There are Squallers aboard those ships to make shields in the air, and an odd Fabrikator or two to trigger the bombs high in the sky, or at least keep them from falling on the cities. If it comes to that.”

“Why would it come to that? We’re so far from the borders.”

“No one will care about that if the Darkling decides to push the Fold further into their countries. They’ll just want to get back at him.” She picked at a blade of grass by her feet. “Even he can’t swallow up all of Fjerda in an instant.”

My stomach turned. Novokribirsk had happened so fast, but a whole country… there probably would be time for retaliatory action if they realized what was happening. If they had even the slightest warning it might happen. And if they knew what he could do, everyone would be on guard.

“I’m surprised he cares about protecting the city at all,” I said bitterly.

She blinked at me, green eyes wide. “You developed the air defense plan with the Grisha generals.”

I didn’t know what to make of that, and lapsed into a shocked silence.

Natalia could not be more different from Genya, but I appreciated her reluctance to push me and her willingness to fall silent when I did not want to talk. When my thoughts became too overwhelming, she would answer the light questions I asked her. I learned a little about her background this way: that she had been born in a small seaside village, that she came to Os Alta when she was six years old, and that she’d been handpicked for this assignment at eleven, when my last Tailor began aging out of the job.

All of these pieces helped me put together why she had seemed so startled when I asked if we were friends. The young girl delivered to an immortal Grisha-queen a century her elder would never have even considered friendship as a possibility.

She was pleasant enough to spend time with, though, and didn’t seem to mind my company. When she returned me to my rooms, I asked if she wouldn’t mind gathering up a few books for me, and then retreated to process what I had learned, sun-soaked, full of bread and jam and terrifying new knowledge.

* * *

As I brushed out my hair in front of the mirror that evening, I felt a strange itching at the back of my mind. The Darkling would usually appear around this time. Natalia had said he wouldn’t come to me since he’d be busy at the front. _Good_ , I had thought that morning.

But now that I knew a little more about the state of the world, about the bombs that could rain on Os Alta if he upset the delicate balance, I had a worse thought: busy with _what_?

I hated the way he consumed my thoughts, but wasn’t like he had given me very much else to think about, and he kept popping up with strange regularity. Did the connection he exploited to appear to me work both ways?

And how had he established it? I touched the bite on my shoulder. Maybe he— no, it was too big a mouth with too many teeth to be human. That was a relief, but it was difficult to quell the immediate disgust I felt at the idea of him biting my shoulder hard enough to scar me _himself_. My only consolation was that he probably considered himself too dignified to do something like that.

Or maybe not. He had, after all, enslaved me.

I tamped down my anger. I needed to _focus_. Manifesting to someone over that much distance seemed to require energy and finesse. I didn’t have much of either. What did I have? Only an instinct, a theory, and a sense of longing that didn’t belong to me. My breath caught. There was so much that I too, longed for, so much that I couldn’t have.

I lay down on the bed and ran a finger over the bone collar at my neck. Was that the answer? Common ground? Had he ridden the channel of my loneliness to reach me? There was no shortage of it. I knew that his loneliness was an inky void, the vast and terrifying nothingness of the Fold. The same eternity that now stretched out before me.

It struck in my head like the ringing of a bell. There he was. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them I found myself standing in the middle of a military encampment. It was blurry, but I had spent enough time in the army to know the shades of brown and grey. This one appeared to be semi-permanent, like the camp at Kribirsk. At least one of the walls was concrete.

The Darkling was there, both hands planted on a large strategy table, leaning forward, his brow furrowed. A number of other men and women stood around the sides, features obscured. I recognized the colors of two Grisha orders: Corporalki and Etherealki. The rest appeared to be _otkazat’sya_ military leaders, which surprised me until I remembered the unerring loyalty of his _oprichniki_. He might look down on them, but he would always have use for a handpicked few.

He startled when he saw me standing, and I felt a giddy thrill at the flash of surprise on his face, the way his eyebrows pulled up and apart. Then he straightened, raised a hand to the men and women around him and said, “I will take it under advisement. Leave me.”

There was no argument. Grisha and _otkazat’sya_ alike nodded and filed out a door that was behind me, leaving him to focus singularly on me.

“I felt you calling,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d come yourself. It took you much longer to figure out how the first time around.”

“I was lonely,” I replied dryly, mocking both of us. “I craved your sparkling company.”

He gestured at the empty room around us. “Well, it’s yours.”

“Where are we?”

“South of Caryeva. Not far from the Shu Han border.”

“I thought you wanted a world without borders.”

His lip quirked. “The world was not so enlightened. It had other ideas.”

He set one hand on the table and leaned almost casually against it. At his touch, the great table snapped into focus again. I could now see that his hand rested on a giant map of the continent.

“Come, look,” he said, beckoning me over.

I did, coming to stand next to him, careful as always to keep distance between us. When I took in the state of the world, I shuddered. The swath of black representing the Fold had pushed further into Fjerda and Shu Han, inky tendrils expanding outward, reaching greedily over mountain ranges and nearly to the ocean, but perhaps not as far as I might have feared. Ravka’s borders had pushed outward — gobbling up the entire Sikurzoi mountain range and some of the Fjerdan permafrost — but they were still borders.

More intriguingly, the Fold was broken in the middle, striped by a thin sliver of land labeled “The Crossing.”

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to it.

“Your wedding gift to Ravka.”

It was one thing when I sarcastically referred to our political marriage, and another when he did, almost too sincerely. I shook my head. It wasn’t the time. “So what are you doing here?”

He smiled at me, but his eyes were cold. “As I said. Reprisal.”

Cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. “For my memories.”

“I’ve given them free rein for far too long. The best way to kill a country…” He tapped the map with one long finger. “Consume the lowlands where they grow their crops. Starve them slowly. More humiliating, more painful than swallowing them whole. Would you agree?”

“No,” I whispered. The terrified faces of the villagers at Novokribirsk were still fresh in my mind. Now they were joined by the specters of thousands of Shu farmers, out of their houses for the fall harvest, oblivious to danger. “No, don’t—don’t do that.”

“I can’t keep what was done to you secret forever, Alina. The people adore their Sun Queen. When word gets out, they’ll clamor for blood.”

I shook my head, speechless.

“Then what’s your alternative? A military target?” He tapped another spot on the map. “There are a few camps set up not far from the current boundary of the Fold, guard-towers and such, here and here. An airfield, here. Would they be more suitable?”

“They’ll retaliate,” I shot back, thinking of the ships waiting day and night over Os Alta. Squaller shields might protect the city, but those bombs would just land on other villages, other homes. “They’ll kill Ravkans because you wanted petty revenge.”

“Then it will be war.” He shrugged. “And they cannot win a war against us.”

“There is no ‘us’ in this. If I’m the wronged party, shouldn’t I be able to decide the nature of my revenge? Just stop this and come back,” I demanded.

He considered me. “Can you say that like you mean it?”

“What?”

“Tell me to come back. Say it like you want me there.”

“I—” My skin crawled with loathing. I was reminded of the night before we went onto the Fold, when he had dangled mercy before me only to snatch it away. “This is ridiculous. Either listen to me or don’t, but I’m not about to play these games with you.”

“Alina.” He wasn’t leaning against the table anymore. He crossed the scant few steps to where I was standing. I wanted to flinch, but stood my ground. “Tell me to come home.”

My eyes slid to where I knew the map rested on the table next to us. I thought of the thousands of lives he could claim in an instant, leaving them stumbling lost souls in the dark. I had seen him do it. However unwilling, I had helped him do it.

I hated myself, but what choice did I have? My dignity wasn’t worth those lives, even enemy lives. His face was too close. I closed my eyes. “Come home,” I whispered.

His hand slipped into my hair, cradling the back of my head. I shivered as my power sang, awakening within me, surging toward him. “Again,” he said.

It was a little easier to manage the second time. It gave me something to think about other than how a part of me still wanted to acquiesce to his touch. “ _Please_ come home.”

“Now say my name.”

My eyes snapped open. “What?”

The Darkling’s face hardened. “No, I didn’t think so,” he said, and the tether between us snapped, sending me hurtling back to my bedroom in the Grand Palace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, what is it that you want from me?” I closed my eyes, as I had when we were face to face. I’d be lying if I claimed to have no idea.
> 
> But he laughed, low. “Only that which can be freely given, I’m afraid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HouseOfFinches drew the end of the last chapter and it's extremely 🥵. Go check out the art and show her some love on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1304581480694378498) or [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CFBUbyqgElW/)!
> 
> Graphic for chapter 5 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/629250720439435264/well-what-is-it-that-you-want-from-me-i-closed).

I sat bolt upright in bed, ears ringing, and immediately rang for a servant. I met her at the door, wild-eyed and barefoot. “Get me Natalia,” I said, and she bowed and fled into the shadows.

Every second was too long. But soon Natalia was running down the hallway toward my room, clutching at the gauzy red robe she’d thrown over her nightdress, dark hair unbraided and flying out behind her.

I was surprised that when I spoke, I sounded deathly calm. “Natalia. Do you have some way to reach him at the front?”

“Yes, why—” She stopped herself, maybe wondering if she should betray his confidence, then nodded, breath still coming quickly from her run. “Yes, I do.”

“I need to talk to him. It’s urgent.”

Natalia nodded again and did not question me. “All right. Follow me.”

She took off down the hall again, and I followed her to what I remembered her saying was one of the mostly unused palace suites. When we stopped in front of a door, she pulled on a thin chain around her neck that I hadn’t noticed before and fished a key out of the neckline of her nightdress.

I thought we might be going to her room, but when she opened the door I saw that the room was a small study. The shelves were mostly bare, and spiders and their telltale cobweb decorations had taken up residence. Dark curtains hung in the windows, closed so tightly that not a sliver of moonlight shone through.

As I felt for the light switch, Natalia made for the old desk and the room’s single hint of modernity: an odd, almost pyramidal contraption that appeared to be plated in brass. She detached a cylinder from it — no, not a cylinder, it curved and flared strangely at the ends — and then hooked her finger in the dial, spinning it around once, twice…

“What is it?” I asked.

“A telephone.”

“Can’t it go any faster?”

“I have to get the right numbers,” she said, and for once _she_ sounded a little impatient with _me_. I was reminded once again that I was a stranger in this world, and let her work, clutching my arms over my chest, unable to stop my foot from tapping.

Finally she achieved what must have been the right numbers, because she held the telephone to her ear and waited, frowning. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice began speaking out of it, tinny and slightly garbled and incomprehensible to me.

“Yes, for the Darkling,” Natalia said, her voice a hushed, urgent whisper. “It’s important. Sankta Alina is asking for him.”

The person on the other end made a short reply. Then, Natalia held the telephone out to me.

“Sankta Alina?” I asked her. The telephone was attached to its base by a wire, so I had to move behind the desk to take it. I could see some kind of mesh over the wide end.

She blushed. “It’s not your official title, but it tends to get faster results.”

I frowned, but held the curved ends of the telephone up to my ear and mouth as I had seen her do. That could wait. This couldn’t.

The Darkling didn’t leave me waiting long. “You’re a fast learner,” he said simply. His voice was distorted slightly, but I could still hear the wry amusement in it. “Two new ways to reach me in one night. Do you miss me that badly?”

“Whatever you’re doing, don’t do it.”

“How very vague.”

“Fine. If you’re going to kill all of those people, do it in your own name,” I snarled. “The attempt was on your life. Don’t pretend this is about me.”

“Ah, yes. You were not the only one who had something precious stolen away.” He paused, leaving me an opening.

“Don’t do it,” I said again. I had been steady before, but my voice wavered now. “I have nothing to bargain with but my life, but if you don’t think—”

“I had missed that delightful naiveté. If I recall correctly, you don’t have the faintest idea how to take your own life. And you’re wrong, Alina. You have several things that I want, and I would bathe the rest of this world in the blood of innocents if I thought that would make you give them to me.”

The knuckles of my hand went white clutching the telephone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Natalia hasten to the door of the study, heard her call for water.

He drew a long breath, then sighed. “Perhaps this will prove an acceptable compromise: tomorrow morning the Shu will awaken to find the Fold has overflowed its borders a few meters on all sides. Just enough to make them fear further retribution. From there they may evacuate the area or try to kill me again or do whatever they like.”

“Will there be further retribution?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, what is it that you want from me?” I closed my eyes, as I had when we were face to face. I’d be lying if I claimed to have no idea.

But he laughed, low. “Only that which can be freely given, I’m afraid.”

More riddles. “Married life has really mellowed you,” I said flatly. “You never cared about taking things from me before.”

“An old dog can learn new tricks, it seems. Especially with a young pup nipping at his heels.”

Despite myself, I nearly laughed too. “A century is young to you?”

“A mere blink, Alina.” He almost sounded fond.

I steered us back to the reason I’d called. “So settle for the warning. Just remind them who has the power. That should be enough.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I’ll see you again in two days.”

“Wait,” I began, but there was a click, and then static, and then the tinny voice asked, “Can I connect you with anyone else, _moi soverenyi_?” I dropped the telephone on the desk.

“What happened?” Natalia asked, returning with a glass of water in her hand. She saw the telephone sitting there, frowned at it, and put it back on the hooks that held it.

My knees buckled, and I sank into the empty chair behind the desk. “I think I changed his mind,” I said slowly. “I hope.” I folded my arms on the mahogany desk and let my head fall onto them. “Maybe now a lot of people won’t die.”

I sensed her hesitation, but after a moment she walked over to me and lightly placed a hand on my shoulder. “I hope so,” she said, sounding unsure of what else to say.

I let an anguished sound escape my mouth. “I guess we can only wait.”

* * *

The next two days passed in an anxious blur. I didn’t sleep. I hardly ate. My eyes were constantly drawn to my window, to the ships miles above me, waiting to hear the booms of bombs exploding high in the air, bursting in red and gold blooms like perverse fireworks. No one would give me news, no matter what I asked. The palace servants knew nothing of the Darkling's plans, and I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get in touch with the military, who I would even call.

I tore through the books Natalia brought me, books that I had specifically requested, but could hardly focus on them. When I tried to set my mind to reading, the words blended together in a solid block of ink and nonsense.

There was another problem. I had asked Natalia for books covering the past one hundred years of Ravkan history, to refresh the memory that I had lost. I also asked her if there were any scholarly accounts of me and my powers, which must have sounded incredibly narcissistic. But if I truly was over one hundred years old, then I had to have tapped into some kind of proficiency. I probably knew how to do things I barely thought possible.

Saints, it was enough to drive a person mad.

But it had only really taken a glance at the historical volumes she brought me for me to realize they were sycophantic propaganda. All I had to do was turn to the chapters on what was called the Ravkan Civil War and see what the authors noted down about Novokribirsk, its first casualty. “An accident,” or an “unfortunate incident,” or, even worse, a “necessary loss” — that was all code for “the Darkling has rewritten history here.”

There were probably hazards to being a historian when the major architects of history still lived, I realized. And I didn’t know who might have lived to testify to the truth of Novokribirsk aside from me, Mal, and the Darkling. But it wouldn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. The Darkling could control the Fold, the long-sought Sun Summoner could help him navigate the Fold, the first thing that happened was the slaughter of a bunch of Ravkans. Given that a previous Darkling — actually the same man — had created the Fold in the first place, I imagined the whole thing should have been treated with much more scrutiny.

The history books were also very generous with me, a person who had led an insurrection that I did not remember. They generally agreed that I had been “led astray” by the youngest Lantsov prince, who had stuffed my head full of ludicrous ideas from which I was freed when he mysteriously vanished. Apparently my surrender had been “very graceful” and I had “agreed to help the Darkling rebuild Ravka, recognizing that we were stronger together than apart.” I supposed that was one explanation for how unusually magnanimous he had been in not putting me to death.

Sometimes there were photographs. In one there was a photograph of the wedding. I was unrecognizable to myself in a beaded gown, with my white hair done up in elaborate knots, my face completely blank. The Darkling stood beside me, his eyes shining with triumph. Unfamiliar Grisha, likely lieutenants of his, held the ceremonial crowns over our heads. It hurt me to look at too long, and I’d quickly turned the page.

“Is this it?” I asked, after summoning her again to my rooms. “Is this all there is?”

“There are plenty of history books,” Natalia said. “I have some friends in the libraries. They might be able to help if you have a more specific request.”

“I’m not sure they can,” I said, looking at the books that had been strewn about the various horizontal surfaces in my bedroom. “Are there any histories of Ravka that weren’t written by Ravkan historians?”

“Histories of Ravka not written by Ravkans?” she asked, puzzled and slightly scandalized, like I’d suggested something traitorous. In all honesty, I probably had.

“I just want another perspective,” I said. “Maybe someone more neutral? A Kerch scholar?” I might not know much, but I knew the university in Ketterdam was top-notch and that Kerch was steadfastly uninvolved in international affairs; hopefully neither of those things had changed dramatically.

“I can try.” But she sounded skeptical, like a historian from another country couldn’t possibly know Ravka better than its own citizens. That might be true, but I couldn’t trust anything that had been filtered through the Darkling and his subordinates. So I set her to the task and, with nothing else to do, turned back to pacing and watching the windows.

I unintentionally became very familiar with the unexplored rooms in my own suite. I paced the studio, the parlor, the private dining room, the dressing room and even the large wardrobe holding all of the _keftas_ and dresses I wore for state occasions. I sat on sofas, plush armchairs, the bed, in front of my vanity, unable to ever get comfortable.

But eventually fatigue caught up to me, and, without realizing I had dozed off, I found myself back on the Fold with Mal. The darkness pressed in around us, but I could see him fine. “It’s all right, Alina,” he assured me, as he always did, even though he was the one that was dying.

“No,” I sobbed. I tasted salt on my lips. “No, you have to live.”

“It’s all right.” He clasped my bloody hand between both of his. He had never done this before. “But you have to promise me.”

“Anything,” I told him. “Anything.”

“Promise—” He coughed again.

When I brushed his hair back from his face, my palm left a bloody streak on his forehead. “I promise. Whatever it is, I promise.”

“No,” he said. “Listen to me—”

Before he could swear me to whatever it was that meant so much to him, I jerked awake, swinging out my arm and knocking a bottle of perfume off my vanity. It shattered on the carpet, filling the dressing room with the heady scent of rose petals. I stared at the glass shards, unable to comprehend what I had done.

“What are we going to do, Mal?” I asked, watching the carpet soak up the clear liquid. I’d thought it was pink, but apparently that was just the tint of the glass. “What are we going to do now that we’re here?”

There was no answer, of course, not from Mal or the broken perfume bottle. I shook my head and nearly stooped to clean the glass up myself before remembering where I was and ringing for someone with a dustpan and broom.

* * *

I didn’t need to be told when the Darkling returned from the front at dusk on the second day. I sensed his renewed presence in the palace like lightning down my spine. There was no way I was going to wait for him to come to me or to call for me. My hands were shaking with anger and apprehension, but I dressed myself and went to find him.

Surprisingly, he was behind the very first door I threw open. Natalia had pointed out his study on our tour, but we had not gone in. It looked more like a library than a study, the walls crammed with books from the floor to the high ceiling—two full stories of books. The trimmings were black, of course. Someone had painted a dark fresco on the ceiling, a half-clouded night sparkling with stars, the moon in each of its phases circling the large, crystal chandelier that hung down in the exact center of the room.

I was too furious to appreciate any of it.

“Did you do it?” I demanded.

The Darkling looked up from the large black desk he sat behind. He was pristine and composed as always, although his hair looked slightly windswept from travel. “It’s lovely to see you too, wife.”

“Did you?”

He continued to ignore my question. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Silence. No retaliatory bombs falling near the city outskirts. Yes, I exercised the restraint you asked, Alina. I hope you’re grateful.”

“I am grateful.”

“How grateful?”

I crossed my arms and leaned — trying not to sag with relief — against the doorframe. “Not that grateful.”

He laughed. “I forgot how vexing you were.”

“It shouldn’t take bribery to make you do the right thing.”

“And yet I have so little incentive otherwise.”

“Not starting a war is its own reward. Avoiding needless death is—”

“Those people are all born to die anyway, Alina,” he scoffed. “Whether as casualties of war or the inexorable passing of time, it ultimately makes very little difference.”

I stared at him. “It makes _all_ of the difference.”

He shrugged.

“Say someone dies early who would otherwise have—” I stopped myself. “You know what? No. I’m not going to frame this in terms of how you might benefit from it. I shouldn’t have to. Life _matters_ , even if it isn’t as long as yours or mine.”

“It’s remarkable how much you care for them,” he murmured. “Even for enemy citizens of an enemy country.”

But I am not thinking about friends or foes. I can only think of the dream I have, of Mal’s life draining away through my fingers. “Well, it’s remarkable how much you don’t,” I snapped, and I turned to storm out into the hallway. Then I thought of something else, and paused at the door, resting one hand on the knob.

“I don’t want you coming to visit me at night anymore,” I told him, my back still turned. “As a projection or otherwise. I don’t want to see you.”

“I am all that ties you to the life you remember.” I heard him shuffling the reports on his desk. “But if that’s what you say you want…”

“It’s not what I say I want, it’s what I do want.”

“Semantics.” A pause. “Fine, then.”

“ _Fine_.” I tossed it over my shoulder, a weak parting shot.

I let the door slam shut, and, dizzy with the exhaustion that finally caught up to me, took a moment to sink to the floor just beside it. I let my head fall back against the wall with a thunk. Part of me considered throwing myself from the roof of the palace out of spite — it’s not like there was much to anchor me here, in this time. Even if it didn’t kill me, and he implied it wouldn’t, it would really get on his nerves.

But it was pretty clear that I was the only thing keeping him from erasing the world in a fit of pique. No, I couldn’t take that way out. So what could I do?

The tap of a servant’s boots against the marble roused me from my thoughts, and reminded me of what I had forgotten — the books I had asked for, my questions that went unanswered. At the very least, I could make myself a thorn in his side. I could discover if I had any real power here.

And I was now more determined than ever to find out what he was hiding in the old wine cellar.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He can make it very easy for you to love him if you have something he wants. And even if you know what he’s doing, even if you know the consequences of stepping out of line are dire, it can be hard to shake.”
> 
> To my great embarrassment, I was blushing too. I understood what she was saying and very much wished I didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 6 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/629433268924792832/its-complicated-some-of-us-fear-him-others-of).

“How did you get these?” I asked Natalia.

She had handed me two new “books” to read. One was a manuscript, the Ravkan translation of a Zemeni tome set to be published in a few months: _Ravka Revisited: A Century Under the Black Tsar_. It seemed like the sort of thing that wouldn’t be very flattering to the Darkling’s rule, or, at the very least, more impartial. The other was a smaller book, older, the pages a little yellowed. The front was unmarked, but the first page revealed that it had the dramatic title of _The Lost Years of the Sun Saint_.

The author of the second book had the surname Kostyk, and it took me a minute to remember where I had heard it before. That had been the name of Genya’s Fabrikator crush. There were probably plenty of people with that name, but it seemed like too much of a coincidence.

Both books bore the same stamp on their title pages: _zapreshcha’ya_ in red ink. Prohibited, forbidden.

Natalia blushed and looked down, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I flirted with a boy in Foreign Affairs.”

“You didn’t!” I exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

She shrugged and picked at the end of her braid. “It’s not very hard. You really just have to make eye contact and smile. I can do that sometimes.”

“I’m sure _you_ can,” I said, in what I hoped was a kind way. “It’s not as easy for those of us who aren’t gifted with beauty.”

Her blush deepened. “I wasn’t born looking like this. My other gifts helped.” She paused, then added, “Whatever you do seems to work. The Darkling’s enamored with you.”

“I… don’t think that’s what that is,” I said, but when she gave me a questioning look, I didn’t elaborate. “Thank you, this is exactly what I was looking for. You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you?”

“No one in the office would deny a request directly from you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She nodded absently. “I don’t know. It will take a little time for this to get back to him. He’s very busy.”

“If he does give you any trouble, or if you get the feeling he’s planning to, come straight to me. It was my idea. I’ll protect you.”

She looked up at me, something like admiration in her eyes. “You would do that?”

“Of course I would.” I had hoped she’d known that about me, that I had always been a person who would look out for her. But I remembered the demanding queen with her corn-blue eyes, her too-yellow hair, her wrinkle-free face, and how dismissively she’d treated Genya. I didn’t want to have become that, no matter how long I lived.

So I finally asked Natalia one of the questions I’d been dreading. “Natalia, was I— have I been a good mistress to you? Be honest.”

She looked so startled that I thought she might faint. “I would say so,” she said quickly. “I haven’t had any other mistresses, but I don’t have any complaints about you.”

That was a relief. “But we weren’t close?”

This time, she spoke carefully again. “I don’t know that our difference in stations allows for closeness. Besides, you were always a bit… distant. And so tired. Not cruel, and never intentionally cold.” She paused. “You would always ask me how I was doing when I came to you, and seemed to care. But that was the extent of it.”

I nodded. “And the Darkling?”

She made a sweeping gesture. “Everyone in both palaces is his, except for maybe you. But it’s complicated. Some of us fear him. Others of us… we still fear him, more than anything, but we love him, too. He can make it very easy for you to love him if you have something he wants. And even if you know what he’s doing, even if you know the consequences of stepping out of line are dire, it can be hard to shake.”

To my great embarrassment, I was blushing too. I understood what she was saying and very much wished I didn’t. “So dying at his hand would be bad, but knowing you had disappointed him would be even worse?”

“That’s right. And some things…” She trailed off.

“You're worried?” I pressed.

“I am, of course— of course I am. Always. But— you really don’t remember it at all, do you?” she asked abruptly. “It was never like this before, between us. You never talked to me like this. Like we were… the same.”

“I don’t remember anything. Not even getting married.” _Not even how I lost the boy I love_ , I thought, sitting down on the edge of my bed. Standing felt too difficult all of a sudden.

“Then… I know what it’s like to feel adrift. I guess I just want to help.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking at the papers in my arms. “I can’t hide the books from him if he asks me directly, and I won’t. But you should still have a little time. I hope you find some answers in there.”

“Me, too.”

* * *

I waited for proper nightfall before touching the banned books. I told myself that if the Darkling didn’t agree to my terms and came to visit me in the night, he might catch me reading them. Really, I knew that I was stalling. I opened the thinner volume first, with shaking hands, unsure of what I would find in its pages. The prologue, it turned out, started at the end.

_The last time my mother saw the Sun Summoner, she was about to be crowned Queen of Ravka. It may have been unwise to allow them time together, but, as my mother later recounted with a wink, “There was simply no one else up to the task of doing her hair."_

I checked the author’s name again, and smiled. There was no mistaking her. I would know Genya anywhere, even as far ahead in time as I was, finding her only in the pages of a book.

“Good for you,” I murmured, remembering the way she’d pined for the quiet Fabrikator. “You finally got him to look.”

 _My mother, Genya Safin, best known for her pivotal role in the Ravkan Civil War_ —What was that? I wondered— _never talked about her like she was a saint. The person she described to me at the end of the war was exhausted, grief-stricken, deeply scarred by the losses of friends and loved ones. She ate and slept very little, and grew thin, with heavy black circles under her eyes. As my mother tailored her for the hasty wedding ceremony she stared straight ahead, holding an orange cat in her lap, the pet of a fallen comrade that hissed when any of the Darkling’s men approached her. The Saint who had led a small army into battle against hopeless odds was just a girl, bruised and heavily burdened._

_“But you must never think less of her for this,” my mother always said. “Because even then, she made a choice that most people wouldn’t make. She’s saved thousands of lives.” And she paused before adding with a wink, “She’s the reason you’re here.”_

_The myth of Alina Starkov has outgrown this woman, as myths are wont to do. Many in Ravka continue to revere her as a Saint, reborn on the Shadow Fold, a tragic, beloved figure whose true sacrifice was installing herself as a permanent beacon to keep the darkness at bay. Some, fewer, whisper of her complicity and say she should have truly died if it meant deposing the Darkling. To enemies, she is one of Ravka’s feared immortal rulers, but generally agreed to be the more reasonable one, her husband’s conscience._

_Perhaps Starkov is most remarkable for being the first contemporary Saint — a person known, hated, and loved by those who still live and among us, in Ravka and elsewhere. So many of Ravka’s Saints are shrouded in legends, their edges softened by time. Alina Starkov has been, and can yet be, known. Her journey to Sainthood serves as a portrait of the modern idea of celebrity as well as a time capsule of Ravka at an inflection point. How did this girl, her unlikely life, and the sociopolitical climate intersect to create a modern myth?_

_This book attempts to answer that question, and many others, although the only person truly able to answer them is Starkov herself. The Sun Queen of Ravka never responded to my interview request — although it is likely that, as closely guarded as she is, she never received it._

“I would have loved to talk to you, Petyr,” I muttered, looking at the name on the front of the book once again. Could _he_ still be alive? He’d probably be into his nineties if he was.

I dreaded reading the volume almost as much I longed to, but I flipped back to the table of contents, seeking a different kind of information. It would be too much to ask for him to have devoted an entire chapter to the scope of my powers, that much was clear. This was a biography, fairly well-researched — I was astounded by how he’d managed to track down some of the older children who had bullied me at Keramzin, but there was Genya’s persistence, David’s analytical mind — but it was also a story, mostly in chronological order. In scanning the chapter titles I found one, close to the end, titled “The Invisibility Gambit,” and paused there.

Invisibility sounded like just what I needed.

* * *

“Okay, then,” I said, setting the green book down on the counter in my bathroom. “Let’s get to work.”

According to the _Lost Years_ , I had mastered the ability to make myself and other objects, even objects in motion, invisible. I had thought of light as a singular entity, but like Inferni summoned combustible particles and Corporalki controlled cells in the body, I really manipulated some kind of particle called _photons_. No one had mentioned that at the Little Palace, so I assumed they were a more recent discovery. By redirecting the flow of these _photons_ so that light never hit whatever I wanted to conceal, I could keep it from being seen at all.

It was a little beyond me, though. I generally thought about calling the light. I tried to picture those particles, invisible, huddled around my skin, and pushed them away. I only succeeded at making my forearm glow in the mirror. I sighed, shook it, and broke my own concentration. The light winked out.

“Too technical,” I muttered. I’d never thought of the light as little bits of anything before, and it wasn’t doing me any good now. How did I think of it? A scattering of bright spots that fell through a canopy of trees. Streams, through the curtain in my room. Beams from the sun and the moon, from the palms of my hands. Energy and heat and life.

I wished I had someone to talk to about this. There was only my perpetually bedraggled reflection and the hollows under her eyes.

Well, and the Darkling. But he wasn’t a real option, for obvious reasons.

Maybe if Baghra were still here, I could speak to her, but I didn’t know what her punishment had been for helping me escape the winter fete and dreaded asking. Besides, the Darkling would want to know why I needed her. No, there would be no help. I was on my own.

I took a few minutes to let the light collect around my hands, watching the way it played across my skin. I may not have much — not my memories, not Mal, not true freedom — but I still had this power, and it felt stronger than it had before I’d woken up. It occurred to me that the scale fetter I couldn’t remove might be another amplifier, although I wasn’t sure how that was possible. Grisha could only ever claim one. So maybe this was the natural consequence of a century of practice that I couldn't recall.

“I’ve done it before, I can do it again,” I said. It was easy enough to draw light to me. But if I just gave it a little nudge, away from one of my hands, maybe that would give what I wanted?

I closed my eyes, drew a breath, and gave the light the tiniest push. When I opened them, my hand was gone.

With a yelp, I jumped back from the counter. My hand flickered back into focus. I had never lost feeling in it, and I chided myself for being so jumpy. Wasn’t that what I’d wanted to happen?

There was a knock on the washroom door. “ _Moi soverenyi_?” an attendant called. Saints, I was glad I’d thought to lock it. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I called back. “I just dropped something.” I made my hand blink out of sight again, and smiled for the first time since I woke up two weeks ago in a strange new world.

“Better than fine,” I murmured, cradling my invisible hand in my visible one. I couldn’t stop smiling, and maybe that made me mad, but I didn’t care. “Mal, I think we’re going to be okay.”

* * *

I practiced for three days before I felt that I was ready. When I wasn’t making myself vanish in the mirror, I filled my time with escorted walks around the palace grounds and forays into catching up on the last century of history. Reading was slow going because I kept trying to match up events in the propaganda books with how they were described in _Ravka Revisited_ , and it was rarely a one-to-one comparison. The Darkling’s early invasion of Fjerda, for example — after their short-lived alliance in the Civil War — was described glowingly in all of the Ravkan history books. The Zemeni historian, Adit Jelani, had been less willing to skimp on the civilian toll. To widen the Fold’s reach in Fjerda, the Darkling had had to swallow Ravkan territory, too.

A couple of those nights, I slipped out of my suite unshielded, just to see how far I could get without being turned back. I found that if I walked around as myself, with flowing white hair visible, wandering aimlessly like a sleepwalker, a servant would kindly guide me back to my bedroom nearly the moment I stepped foot out of the private wing. I could resist, but didn’t. It didn’t matter right now, and the more compliant the Darkling thought I was, the more he’d underestimate me.

It was most important that I master invisibility, though. After I did that, no one would be able to stop me from roaming the palace as I liked, or leaving it entirely. No one could stop me from slipping unseen into the Darkling’s rooms and driving a blade right into his chest. Then there would be no more expanding Fold, no more casualties. Then I would be free to do whatever I wanted. Even die, once I figured out how.

The wine cellar first. The wine cellar would be the test of my abilities. Better if I could tarnish his already black legacy by revealing whatever was in there. A place where messy executions were carried out? A secret prison for political enemies? Something else? If I could expose him by revealing it, showing the country who he truly was, all the better.

Maybe I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity, too.

I didn’t bother dressing in real clothes on the third night. No one would see me. I bent the light away from my body and slipped out the door in my white nightdress, just a shimmer in the air. The lack of soled shoes kept my step light on the floor, and the polished marble was always spotless, free of any debris that might stick to my feet.

No one stopped me because no one saw me, but I felt like something in the long shadows cast by the columns and statues beckoned me as I made my way silently past them. _Wrap yourself in us_ , they seemed to say. _Walk in our shelter._ I shivered. I didn’t know if that was the Darkling’s influence or something else, something wrong with me. I remembered how the shadows seemed to do my bidding when I needed them to hide me, then shook my head. Those weren’t my powers. My mind was playing tricks on me.

Finally, I reached the juncture where the men had vanished, where Natalia had said the wine cellar was. I surveyed the area with my hands on my hips, the air still shimmering around me, but saw nothing. I would have to check manually, then. I started looking along the walls for anything that seemed off: paneling worn down by the repeated touch of hands, chipped paint, or plaster or baseboards that looked a little _too_ new.

I stopped briefly behind a statue of what appeared to be a Grisha Squaller, a ribbon fluttering over her head, borne aloft by an invisible gust of wind. That had to be new, I thought wryly. I wished I could briefly trade my powers for a Squaller’s so I could sense the way the air flowed through the corridor. Then I stepped into a cold spot, and shivered, the hair standing on the back of my neck. My instincts warned me to step away, but I realized that this was what I had been searching for. The wine cellar would be kept cool.

 _The palace servants said it was haunted_ , Natalia had said. An errant gust now and then would be enough to make anyone think that.

I shined a small beam of light at my feet and watched it slip under a tiny gap between the baseboards and the floor. This was the place. I searched the wall until I found the tile to depress, just another pretty panel with slightly worn enamel. The wall slid open for me silently, the mechanisms well-oiled. I took a deep breath and went inside.

Beyond the chill, the air here was wrong somehow, stale and stinking. Just inside the door, there was a little lantern, the kind I was familiar with, along with a half-burnt candle, and flint and steel to light them both. I was frowning at them as the door closed behind me, leaving me in complete darkness. No _elektris’ye_ wiring down here, then.

It wasn’t a problem. Releasing my invisibility, I called forth a small globe of light to hover over the palm of my hand, illuminating the grey stone walls, the steps that descended into the cellar. I was the Sun Summoner. It was hard to keep me in the dark.

The air around me grew colder as I headed down into the earth. The steps were steep, and there was no railing, or if there was, someone had removed it; I braced my other hand against the wall. The oppressive wrongness in the air was a stench that grew stronger as I went down, the stench of rotting flesh. I breathed through my mouth as well as I could and wondered what I would find at the bottom. I’d hoped against hope for live prisoners. The smell was telling me otherwise.

My slippered feet felt every groove in the stone steps, and I was afraid I might slip, but I kept my balance as the staircase curved and then ended, abruptly, before what seemed like a landing. The floor and walls were the same grey stone.

When I reached the landing, my summoned light glinted off of metal bars installed a few feet ahead of where I stood, just before the hallway opened into the cellar proper. I saw shadowed archways, overturned racks, and then nothing. The lock on this door was obvious. The bars, smooth and silvery, were Grisha steel.

The Lantsov wine cellar had become a macabre, oversized cell.

“Hello?” I called softly, remembering that I had seen a man led down here. My voice echoed slightly off the high arched ceiling. The rotten flesh smell was strongest here, and I didn’t have much hope for a live prisoner. This place reeked of death. It was all I could do to keep from gagging. In the distance, I thought I saw a shadow detach itself, move across the wall—but I blinked, and it was gone. There was no reply.

I asked a little louder, “Is anyone down here?”

Suddenly, I saw them. Two black eyes, staring steadily at me, gleaming in the darkness, reflecting my light. My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t dare move. Whatever it was, it was on the other side of the bars. It couldn’t hurt me.

Then a sound like a howl, and the flash of dark fangs as a monstrous shape lunged for me from the shadows.

I screamed.

The light went out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what this reminds me of?” I asked rhetorically.
> 
> The monster looked at me, licking blood from its claws. I thought I glimpsed understanding in its eyes.
> 
> I was really losing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 7 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/629612152903385088/you-know-what-this-reminds-me-of-i-asked).

Unthinking, acting purely on instinct, I flattened myself to the wall. There was complete blackness. I could hear only snarling, the hideous scraping of claws on steel.

 _I am going to die down here_ , I thought, but after another gasp of fetid air, I shook my head. No. That thing was on the other side of the bars, and Grisha steel would hold. Besides, it would take more than that to kill me.

On the rare occasions Mal and I ventured out into the woods, against the warnings of Ana Kuya and the other adults, I had always asked him what would happen if we ran into something big with lots and lots of teeth. With a cocky grin, he assured me that whatever we met would be more afraid of us than we were of it, that if we stood our ground, we’d be fine. We always made it back, as had Mal when he’d gotten a little older and started hunting with the men, so it must have been sound advice. Not much good against a _leshy_ or whatever supernatural being might lurk in the overactive imaginations of children, but still sound.

So I stood my ground. I threw my hand up and called another sphere of light, this one brighter. “Hey!” I shouted, hoping my voice didn’t carry up the stairs and through the trick door. “Stop that!”

Almost immediately, the monster shrank away from the bars and into a low crouch. It had massive wings, and tried to use one of them to shield its eyes from the light. It looked so pitiful that I almost apologized to it. I let the light dim a little.

“That’s better,” I said, planting my other hand on my hip. I was perpetually tired, it stank down here, and instead of finding something I could use against the Darkling, I had found a bloodthirsty monster. I wasn’t in the mood for nonsense. “Can you behave now? I risked a lot in coming here and I’m not about to waste it by being eaten.”

To my surprise, the thing sat down on its haunches.

“Oh,” I murmured. I didn’t really expect that to work.

Since it had stopped trying to attack me, I moved closer to the bars to try to get a good look at it. There were parts of it that had the same general shape as a human: the head, the torso. Definitely male. Black veins snaked over its chest, up its arms, its neck. Instead of hands and feet, it had claws. The black wings that erupted from its back weren’t feathered; they almost looked like they were made of living shadow.

The monster cocked its head, staring at me. It might have been my imagination — I might very well have been going insane — but it looked wounded by my shouting.

“Hello, then,” I said, cautiously.

Its wings rustled.

I placed a hand on my chest. “My name is Alina. What are you? Do you have a name?”

The strange creature made a groaning noise, like a rusty barn door someone was trying to push open after years of disuse. I gathered that it hadn’t spoken to anyone for a long time, if it could speak at all.

“That’s all right.” I frown, trying to figure out how to make conversation with something that might not comprehend what I was saying and couldn’t talk back. “You tried to eat me just now, and it’s not like there’s much meat on my bones, so you must be hungry. What do you eat? Is there food here?”

Besides prisoners, I realized with growing dread. Besides people who needed disappearing.

Luckily, there was a more mundane answer. The monster stared at a chest tucked up against the wall on my side of the bars, one I hadn’t noticed. When I approached, I saw it was an icebox. Opening it, I saw about half a dozen game birds packed in tightly, plump and plucked clean. A carnivore, then. I felt sorry for whatever grunt had the job of keeping the box stocked.

Behind me, the monster gave a low whine.

 _Better a hen than a man_ , I thought. I took one of the game birds and flung it as far into the cell as I could. The monster scampered after it. My stomach roiled as I watched it tear into the bird with teeth and claws, but I didn’t try to flee again. It couldn’t help what it was, whatever it was. And, like me, it was caged. Although admittedly my cage was much nicer.

I sat down on the second-to-last step, keeping a safe distance from the bars. Living in the smashed remains of the Lantsov wine cellar didn’t seem like something this creature would choose. Those wings spoke to it being more at home in the sky, or at least a big open space. Had it come from the Fold? Why would the Darkling keep it here?

“Is that better?”

The creature, finishing its crude meal, didn’t reply, and I didn’t expect an answer, but this felt better than speaking to myself in the mirror.

“You know what this reminds me of?” I asked rhetorically, wrapping my arms around my knees and pulling them close to my chest. I gathered the light back into my palms, and it dimmed when I closed my hands, shining between the cracks in my fingers, but I could still see well enough.

The monster looked at me, licking blood from its claws. I thought I glimpsed understanding in its eyes.

I was really losing it.

But there didn’t seem to be any harm in talking to the monster. At least it wouldn’t repeat what I said to the Darkling, unlike pretty much everyone else in the Palace. “Mal heard this Zemeni folktale on the ship that he told me a few days ago— well, no,” I amended, shaking my head. “I guess it was a hundred years ago, not that that makes much of a difference.”

The thing sat back down, watching me. It seemed to be paying attention, but maybe it was just contemplating what it thought would be a really tasty snack.

“In the first part of the story, the king and queen had two sons. The first was normal, but the second one was a monster with claws and horns. No wings, though. And of course the royal family wanted nothing to do with it, so the king had a maze built under the palace and put it down there.”

I drew a circle in the dust on the step with my index finger. I didn’t exactly have a way with stories, although I swapped them with Mal all the time. It was Mal who could somehow entertain a table full of trackers with even the most boring tales. It was Mal who could make everything come alive.

“There’s a lot more to it after that,” I said softly. “But this cellar is kind of like a maze, isn’t it? Although I guess it’s too much to ask you to be a prince.”

The monster snorted softly and lay down on its belly.

“Am I boring you?”

Its wings rustled again.

I slid down to the lowest step. “Or… do you want to hear the rest?”

It picked up its head. Its face was distressingly human, barring the ink-black eyes and fangs. High cheekbones and a strong jaw, a nose that had maybe been broken once. If it was a man, he wouldn’t be hard on the eyes. I wondered if somehow a volcra had mated with a human, if this thing wasn’t the result of some cruel experiment.

I didn’t really feel like asking the Darkling. I barely felt like going back up the stairs.

“Okay, then,” I told the monster. “I guess I’ll tell you what I can remember.”

* * *

I awoke in complete darkness, my neck aching, stone scraping my cheek. Panic pressed in on me before I remembered where I was. I hadn’t been sleeping all that well, but I must have really been exhausted if I was dozing off on stone steps, against stone walls, in what amounted to a stinking dungeon. At least I hadn’t jolted out of another nightmare, watching Mal die on the Fold.

Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and called the light to my palm. The monster was curled up behind its steel bars, head resting on folded forearms, its ribs expanding and contracting visibly in the slow rhythm of sleep. It really did look like a man. A very naked man. I let my eyes slide over it and up to the arches of the ceiling, then stood as quietly as I could to avoid waking it and slipped back up the stairs. I wasn’t sure yet that I’d collected another odd friend, but I was weirdly grateful we’d both managed to find some modicum of peace. It couldn’t be an easy life in the cellar.

Just before I emerged back into the corridor, I remembered that I needed to make myself invisible and bent the light around me. I pushed the door open to find bars of early morning light cast across the marble floor. Saints, had I left later in the night than I thought, or had I really slept that long? I hurried back to my room, retracing my path through the halls.

Turning the last corner, I saw Natalia standing outside my door, looking around anxiously. She said something in a low voice to a palace servant, who scurried off the other way down the hall, no doubt to search for me.

I slipped behind a column and dropped my invisibility before walking out to meet her. There didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it, so I just tried to act like everything was normal. “Good morning, Natalia.”

She jumped and pressed a hand to her breast. “Saints, _moi_ — Alina. Where have you been?”

“Sleepwalked,” I said, unconvincingly. My white nightdress was dirty, my slippers blackened with dust, and I couldn’t imagine I smelled very good. I had no idea what the Darkling would do when he found out about this, and I was alarmed at Natalia’s tone. She didn’t usually demand answers of me. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s asked you to join him for breakfast.” She sounded panicked. “We need to get you into a bath right away.”

“For—” I let her usher me into my room, into the bathroom, but even as I was throwing my nightdress over my head and climbing into the lilac-scented bath she’d already prepared for me, I was asking, “What if I don’t want to eat breakfast with him? What if I don’t want anything to do with him? What would he do to me?”

Natalia’s hands were steady as she brushed the lingering grime out of my white hair and began to curl it with her fingers, but her voice wavered when she said, “I don’t think it’s you he’d punish.”

“Fine.” I grabbed the soap and began to scrub at my skin. My neck still hurt and the water was just a little too hot. I was cross, but not so cross that I was going to let Natalia or someone else bear the brunt of a punishment meant for me.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have to do much work on your face,” Natalia said under her breath, apparently too nervous for her usual propriety. “You’re practically glowing.”

I had definitely noticed the change in my reflection over my few days of practicing with invisibility. My appetite was beginning to recover, too. Natalia seemed to believe I was getting over my recent affliction, and I was happy to let her think that. I recalled how healthy I had looked after months of lessons at the Little Palace, when Genya had brought me into Zoya’s room so I could see myself in the mirror. But the memory soured when I remembered that that had been the evening the Darkling had gifted me with my first black _kefta_ , the night I had to flee Os Alta, and I quickly released it.

After I dried off, Natalia handed me a clean nightdress and a translucent silk robe to wear over it. To my surprise, the robe was blue, although a rich deep blue, with gold embroidery along the collar and sash. I was reminded of the _kefta_ I had asked to wear, the colors I had adopted so as not to stand apart from the other Etherealki, and felt a wistful pang. At least I didn’t have to wear black again.

Once I nodded my readiness to Natalia, she went and made three sharp raps on the door that connected my suite to the Darkling’s— the one he usually kept locked. It was opened by a palace servant whose face was new to me. He gave a bow when he saw me. “ _Moi soverenyi_. Follow me, please.”

He led me through the Darkling’s rooms. I was unamused to see that my bedroom directly adjoined his, though I supposed that must have been convenient for the previous royal occupants. It was not surprising that he had redone this room completely, that all of the upholstery was black and the walls were dark wood. I shivered. It seemed like a cold place to sleep and not very comfortable, despite the luxurious bed, canopied like mine.

We walked down a narrow hallway. The next room, which I glimpsed through an open door, was a massive parlor that I barely had time to survey as we trotted past. I marveled at the height of the ceilings, the beautiful chandeliers. Maybe he received visitors there. We passed it quickly, and the servant opened a door at the far end of the hall, then bowed, gesturing for me to enter first.

Given the size of the parlor, the private dining room was smaller than I expected, about the same size as mine. It looked like he had not redecorated as much in here. There was teak wood paneling that stopped about two-thirds of the way up the walls, and the flooring was wood, not marble or slate. A fine silver samovar waited on a small table in the corner. Two windows stretched nearly to the ceiling, and the curtains were pulled back, affording an exquisite view of the palace grounds bathed in morning sunlight. A glass-doored hutch stood between them, showing off a beautiful dining set with his — _our_ — symbols: the sun ascendant, and the sun in eclipse.

The Darkling was seated at the far side of a mahogany table that was perfectly sized for four, or maybe six, people, but felt far too small to me. He, too, was dressed informally, in a black robe. I realized I had never seen him wear anything other than a _kefta_ , and suddenly longed for more clothes myself.

“You took the bigger suite,” I accused.

“Alina,” he said, with a smile. “You look radiant. Please, sit. Help yourself.”

The servant pulled out the chair opposite his, and I took it. I wrinkled my nose to see herring and rye bread on the table, as I had suspected, but there were also sliced apples, and he’d been strategic in placing a little basket of pastries near my seat. I expected him to ask about my nighttime excursion, but he just watched me, waiting.

“Still herring, after all these years,” I remarked, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“I hate herring.”

“I know. But we must not forget where we come from.”

 _We_. I glared steadily at him. The servant poured us both tea from the samovar, then the Darkling dismissed him with a wave of his hand. I began spooning sugar into my tea, stirring it to dissolve. “Then why let me have sweets? I’d swear you were trying to fatten me for the slaughter.”

“You need your strength.” He raised an eyebrow. “Although, if you wouldn’t mind sharing…”

I began unloading pastries onto my plate. There was one in particular I’d come to like, with a sweet cheese filling and flaky crust. “I’ll think about it.”

“Are you going to make me beg?” he asked mildly.

“I’m not like you,” I said, scowling. I pushed the basket to his side of the table, and noticed that while I was preoccupied with the sweets, he’d somehow gotten ahold of the sugar dish and was dropping a spoonful into his tea. I blinked at him.

“What is it?”

My brow furrowed in concentration. “Do you… like sweet things?”

He sighed.

“You do!” I exclaimed, with something like sadistic glee. I took an apple slice and chewed on it. “You insist on the herring because you want to hide—”

“That’s not it.”

“Then why? Pride? You’re effectively the king. You could bathe in a tub full of sugar cubes every morning if you wanted.”

“Overindulgence is weakness. I’d thought the last king demonstrated that well enough. And as I said, this is our history, Alina. Yours and mine. And what better reminder is there that we do not yet live in a country where there’s a sugar dish at every table?”

Such a man of the people. I snorted.

“Regardless,” he continued, carefully selecting a single pastry from the basket and sending it back to me, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m afraid it doesn’t exactly suit my reputation.”

“The Black Tsar, master of the Fold, scourge of the East and devourer of sweets.” I caught my lip tugging in the beginning of a smile and scowled harder. “You’re charming me.”

The Darkling arched an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Don’t— you’re doing it on purpose. Like before.” I folded my arms. I refused to consider him as anything close to human, no matter how hard he tried to make me see him that way. “You want something. Tell me what it is.”

“Eat, Alina.”

“I’m not hungry,” I lied. “Have out with it.”

He pursed his lips. “If I ‘have out with it,’ will you eat?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “No promises.”

“Very well. You’ve been awake for long enough now, and your recovery is progressing well. I have also come to learn that you’ve taken a sudden interest in Ravkan history.” He began spooning herring onto his plate. “Although you don’t have to resort to subterfuge to acquire banned books. I have plenty of them in my personal library.”

My cheeks heated. “You—what? Why?”

“I find it useful to know what my enemies are saying about me.” He gave me a tighter smile. “Or reading about me.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I’d like you to put in a public appearance with me,” he said.

I dropped my fork.

“Not what you were expecting?”

I shook my head. If I didn’t already think he was mad, I would know now. “You can’t really believe it’s a good idea to bring me out in public.”

“It wouldn’t be anything strenuous. Help me receive a few diplomats from Kerch, hear some civilian petitions, that sort of thing. And don’t entertain any thoughts of acting out. I have ways of ensuring your good behavior.”

That wasn’t good. I tried to ignore the prickling at the back of my neck. “But I have no idea what to do. I don’t know court ceremony.”

“You’ll have a couple of days to learn. Just follow my lead.”

“This isn’t really an ask, is it,” I said dully.

“We’re two of the most powerful Grisha to ever live, Alina. Ravka is invested in our health and wellbeing. The cover story we’ve chosen for you might satisfy enough curious minds, but anyone with true knowledge of Grisha would know we aren’t easily felled by illness. They’ll wonder if one of our enemies has developed a chemical weapon. They’ll wonder if you’re dead. They’ll smell weakness.” He leaned back in his chair, steeping his fingers. “I want to show the world that we are still strong.”

 _The might of the country depends on the strength of its rulers and their union_ , Natalia had said. Like it was rote, something she’d memorized in school. I exhaled. “I want a new _kefta_ ,” I said. “More gold than black. I want to wear it in court.”

“That’s your ask?”

I shrugged again, both shoulders this time. “You’ve separated me from pretty much everything else I want, so, yeah.”

His expression grew stormy. “I’ve given you everything you could want, Alina.”

The sick thing was that I knew he truly believed it. I picked up one of the pastries off my plate, although my resurgent appetite had vanished. “Gold _kefta_ ,” I insisted. My small act of rebellion.

The Darkling looked exasperated, but he said, “Done.”

I nodded. Then, without breaking eye contact with him, I bit down hard. The pastry flaked apart in my mouth, buttery and delicate, but I tasted nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One of us falls and the other falters. At least, that’s how the rest of the world perceives our relationship.”
> 
> “So, act strong. Should I flex?”
> 
> He laughed, rich and dark. I didn’t understand how he could be a tyrant in one moment and something close to human the next. “Alina, I missed your wit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys see the art that HouseOfFinches drew of Alina and her new monster friend-boy ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1307061390331588610)/[Tumblr](https://houseoffinches.tumblr.com/post/629628087286530048/destiniesfic-you-know-what-this-reminds-me)/[Insta](https://www.instagram.com/p/CFSm7rYg67Z/))?? Because it's once again extremely 🥵. Artists! How are they even real! Make sure you show her love. ♥
> 
> Graphic for chapter 8 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/629900804327931904/one-of-us-falls-and-the-other-falters-at-least).

The next two days passed in a blur as Natalia tried to drill me on the court decorum I woefully forgot or simply never knew. There was so much that I had trouble absorbing it all, and she was always hesitant to correct me when I made a mistake. What she knew was also very different from what I had to learn; she started on the different types of bows and curtsies before remembering that it would be rare for me to ever need to bow.

“When would I?” I had asked.

Natalia considered this for a moment. “Rarely. Maybe if you went to visit the court of another monarch, as a show of respect, but— what?”

She didn’t understand why I was giggling, and I couldn’t tell her that it was at the sheer absurdity of me ever making social calls with the Darkling.

“I can’t imagine we’re very popular,” I managed. “Or that he’s big on diplomacy.”

“It still happens sometimes,” she insisted. “Let’s work on your walk. Shoulders back, chin up…”

I am sure I sent the Fabrikators scrambling with my request for a new _kefta_ , but when it arrived in the morning of the audience, there was no way to tell. My breath caught when Natalia lifted the lid off of its box, and I found myself looking down at yards of shimmering silk, like a pool of liquid gold. I brushed my hand over it, marveling at how light and smooth it was. When I put it on over my black underclothes it felt practically weightless, even though it had a long train, atypical for a _kefta_. The neckline was a bit wider and lower, too, probably to show off the antler collar at my neck.

Natalia gave a little sigh, picking up the train and rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “This must be the new corecloth they’re working on.”

“What?” I goggle down at the _kefta_ , running my hands down the fabric cascading over my thighs. “I could have sworn it was just silk. And it’s so thin.”

“Thin, yes, but it’ll stop a bullet, and a knife will slide right off of it.”

I huffed a laugh. “If we’re this concerned about me getting murdered at court, things really have gone downhill.”

“There’s very little danger, but it _would_ be a bad look.” She dropped the train, and added magnanimously, “Besides, you know how he gets about these things.”

Sure I did. But I said nothing and let Natalia see to my hair. She began pinning it up in elaborate knots at the back of my head, sprinkling in what I thought might be real pearls here and there. Whenever she had me turn my head, I practically gleamed in the daylight. Atop it all she set a delicate pearl _kokochnik_ that nearly blended into my white hair. I raised a hand to touch it.

“It’s understated,” I remarked. In this unfamiliar world, I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“The Darkling thought a lot of the royal traditions were gaudy and unnecessary,” Natalia said, supplying my answer. “But the people like them. They like you. So, a compromise.”

“So he doesn’t wear a crown, or…”

She shook her head. “Crowns are a symbol of the monarchy.” Again, this was recited as if it was something she’d memorized. “We’re not the old monarchy.”

“But thrones are fine.”

Now she faltered. “Um… you want to be comfortable, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said. How deep did it go? She seemed to be well-conditioned, probably raised with these ideas since she came to the Little Palace. As much as she seemed to fear the Darkling — and of me, although she was growing more and more comfortable by the day — she also genuinely respected him. She wanted his approval.

Whenever I thought about that I felt anger and shame. I could hardly fault her for it without being a total hypocrite.

Once I was sufficiently beautified, Natalia escorted me from my room to a room I had never been in. It seemed like a small antechamber. And it was there that the Darkling awaited me, resplendent in black. He looked so regal that I wanted to punch him in the face.

“Alina,” he murmured, a sigh of my name, as though borne to me on a breeze. Though half a dozen _oprichniki_ were with him, that was just for me.

Then he said, “You’ve done well, Natalia. I’ll take her from here.”

My companion bobbed a perfect curtsy, blushed, and made herself scarce immediately.

He offered me his arm, which I knew I could not refuse. I was glad not to be touching his skin, at the very least. I wasn’t ready for the flood of certainty I always felt when he touched me, the dark song his power sang to mine. When he laid his other hand atop the one I rested at the crook of his arm, it was gloved. I wondered at that, and then I realized that everyone in that court must know what was to happen if the gloves came off. When they came off.

“Gold is truly your color,” he said, in that same low tone. He began to escort me from the room. The _oprichniki_ formed two rows around us. An honor guard. “It suits you almost as well as black.”

“You’re biased,” I said breezily. I resented having to look up at him and kept my eyes trained forward.

“Where you’re concerned? Always.”

Natalia had said rolling my eyes was not particularly queenly, but we weren’t in the throne room yet. “I meant about black. I prefer the gold.”

“Do you want to know my true preference?”

“No.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth curl into one of those enigmatic half-smiles.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re taking the long way to the throne room. We’re entering from the back. I want everyone to get a good look at you.”

“Healthier than ever? The might of the country depends on it?”

“You understand.”

“Not really.”

He looked at me. Even with my face turned away, his gaze was scorching. “One of us falls and the other falters. At least, that’s how the rest of the world perceives our relationship. I have no doubt our friends from Kerch are truly here to assess the situation.”

I exhaled. I didn’t want to care, but I was, actually, nervous. That’s why our conversation was lasting this long. Talking helped. “So, act strong. Should I flex?”

He laughed, rich and dark. I didn’t understand how he could be a tyrant in one moment and something close to human the next. “Alina, I missed your wit.”

I wanted to tell him that two months without my quips was a privilege some of my army acquaintances would have killed for, but then I was struck by a colder thought: that he hadn’t only missed my terrible jokes in the two months I’d been kept asleep. Had I lost my sense of humor in the hundred bleak years we’d been married, ground down by time?

Whether I wanted to voice these questions or not, I didn’t have time to ask them, because we were standing before the double doors that would take us into the throne room. I drew another breath.

“Humor me awhile,” the Darkling said. He took his gloved hand off of mine and slipped something onto my ring finger. The wedding ring he’d shown me. He’d clearly kept it in one of his inner _kefta_ pockets; it was warm from the heat of his body. Of course I would have to wear it. It would be noticed if I didn’t.

I stared at the ring, my stomach turning. I couldn’t do this.

“You were a soldier,” he whispered to me. “Eyes front.”

More than being nervous, I hated that he could sense my nervousness. I gave myself a little shake and picked up my head. “My eyes have been front this whole time.”

“Good,” he said, pleased. He nodded, and two of the _oprichniki_ pushed the door open for us.

I remembered vividly the first time I had been in this room, marveling at the scale of it, the three tiers of windows, the elaborate parquet floors, the gold inlay on the ceiling between the rows of crystal chandeliers. I had been nervous then, to meet the king. Now I was with the king, or someone of equal stature, and I was mostly relieved he hadn’t painted all of the gleaming white columns black. The blue carpet _had_ been replaced by a black one, and here, as elsewhere, all of the double eagles were gone, replaced by alternating suns and eclipses wrought in gold.

The makeup of the courtiers was different, too. The Grisha were there, of course, in their red, blue, and purple _kefta_. But the _otkazat’sya_ among them also wore color-colored uniforms, dark blue and white along with the army olive drab, and thanks to Natalia’s tutelage I knew they were different uniforms for the army, the navy, and the men and women who served on the airships. I only realized that the men and women in the Lantsov king’s court had a softness to them when I saw these futuristic counterparts, who all looked tough and square and serious, battle-hardened. There were no glittering gowns among them, no tittering, laughing faces.

They all pressed their hands to their hearts and bowed when the doors opened, and remained bent over as we passed. The Darkling and I proceeded down the carpet like giants, surveying our kingdom of bowed heads and downcast eyes. There was an eerie stillness to the air, and unnatural quiet, like everyone else had been frozen in time. The _oprichniki_ fanned out at the base of the dais, and the Darkling escorted me up the stairs to the two golden thrones. I was glad to be nearly done holding his arm.

“Assuming mine’s the one with the sun,” I whispered, looking at the twin thrones. I had a moment of panic as I wondered if my voice would carry, but no one aside from the Darkling seemed to hear me. His lips twitched. At least I had a husband who thought I was funny. Cold comfort.

We turned, facing the crowd, then sat in unison. Our audience straightened as soon as I did, even began murmuring among themselves, and I breathed a sigh of relief. First test passed. So many more to go.

After a few minutes, the Kerch delegation was announced and everyone stood at attention again. A handful of well-dressed people entered using the same doors through which we had come. One carried a small box. Another wore what I now knew to be mercher black. So much black in this palace. At least I was able to match their names to pictures in the dossier I had read to prepare for this very meeting.

They all bowed, waiting for the Darkling’s signal to straighten and continue. Unsurprisingly, the most prominent mercher was the one to speak. He stepped forward, inhaled, and unleashed a truly outrageous string of titles upon us. Natalia had warned me about this, but I found it hard to keep a straight face.

“Conquerer of _what_?” I murmured, incredulously, under my breath. “Vanquisher of _what_?”

“Hush.”

“You like this part, don’t you?”

My husband made a show of lounging sideways on the throne, resting one elbow on the arm so he could cradle his chin in his hand, but I saw him hiding another smile. It was weirdly satisfying to make him crack.

The mercher apparently passed a test, too, in reciting all seven thousand or so of our titles correctly. The Darkling nodded, and one of the _oprichniki_ at the base of the dais said, “State your business.”

“First, we bring tribute from our finest craftsmen, with the highest compliments of the Merchant Council,” said the mercher. He waved forward a valet holding a box, who knelt at the base of the dais and opened it. The Darkling and I both leaned forward on our thrones.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Sunstones!”

Nestled in one side of the box, on deep green-black velvet, was a brooch with a massive red-gold sunstone at its center, smaller stones radiating out from it in rays. A blazing sun, set in gold. On the other side sat another brooch, an opal of equal size surrounded with tiny gleaming diamonds, inlaid in silver. They were indeed very finely crafted. The Darkling was quiet.

“There are more stones, of course,” the mercher continued, faltering. “But they—”

The Darkling held up a hand to stop him. “This will do, Mister Janssen,” he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching my face. “Admiral Solkolov will meet with you to discuss shipping lanes. That is why you’re here, is it not?”

“Yes, _moi soverenyi_ ,” Janssen said, bowing again. “Thank you.” As he and his entourage were led away, I could see him dabbing surreptitiously at his brow with a handkerchief.

“That was short,” I observed. “What would have happened if I hated the brooch?”

“He’s lucky he won’t find out,” was the Darkling’s reply. I didn’t think he was kidding. “And there’s more.”

“But what more—”

The doors at the back of the throne room opened again, and this time an older man with greying hair flanked by two _oprichniki_ stepped through them. He was clearly not of the same class as those who stood in our audience; he wore what was probably his nicest wool suit, but it didn’t fit him well. He eschewed titles completely to prostrate himself at the foot of the throne.

“ _Please_ , _moi soverenye_ ,” he cried. “My daughter, my Evgenia, you must help my daughter.”

“What’s happened to her?” I blurted, leaning forward again.

Our audience murmured. The Darkling looked vaguely put out, but held up a hand to keep the _oprichniki_ from dragging the man away. The man himself looked up at me. “ _Moi soverenyi_ , my daughter Evgenia is a student at the institute in Os Kervo. They say she was — that she was reading the wrong books, harboring revolutionary ideals — it cannot be true. I know my daughter. She’s been sent to Tsibeya, exiled there for four years, made to do grueling work, and she is not strong enough. Her heart is weak. I thought—” He looked between me and the Darkling. “I thought if I came here to plead her case…”

I slumped back on my throne. “Four years for reading the wrong books. _If_ she’d read them.”

“We can’t have them all getting ideas,” the Darkling said, casually, as if he’d forgotten these were people’s lives he was playing with. He probably had.

“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered.

“That, _moya tsaritsa_ , is the law.” He cocked his head. “Unless you have other thoughts.”

“I do. Send her home.”

The man at the base of the throne gasped, in shock or in gratitude I could not tell.

“And if she’s guilty of the charges?” the Darkling asked me. “And we must assume she is, if she was convicted.”

“If she’s guilty, well…” I faltered. I didn’t think a person should be guilty of having ideas, but that attitude wasn’t exactly new in Ravka. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the Darkling didn’t have a monopoly on tyranny. “Four years in Tsibeya is still too long. Tsibeya is where _all_ the revolutionaries go. She’ll probably make friends.”

A few of the Grisha laughed, like I had told a particularly funny joke. I bristled, but the Darkling appeared to be considering it.

“Very well,” he said. “Seeing as she has already served two months of her sentence— yes, Ivanov, I am familiar with your daughter’s plight—” he added, for the benefit of the gaping man, “—let her serve four more months in a southern labor camp. She’ll still have to work, but the weather will be better. If she’s given up any thought of rebellion, she will be released to you. If not, she’ll stay where she is. Is that clear?”

“Yes, _moi soverenyi_ , yes,” Ivanov said. He looked so relieved, like this was more than he had hoped for. He bowed again, head touching the floor. “Thank you. And thank you, Sankta—”

The Darkling’s expression shuttered.

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” Ivanov amended, just in time. “I will not forget this.”

The _oprichniki_ had to practically drag the man from the room.

“So you see, Alina,” the Darkling murmured, just to me, “I can be swayed.”

I stared at him, but before I could chastise him, the next petitioner was brought in.

It became clear as the afternoon wore on that he was trying to prove a point to me. We heard from a woman who felt she had five children and very little left after taxes, a farmer whose crops had been decimated by some sort of blight, and so on, and so forth. Every time I reacted strongly, the Darkling would give a little ground, but never all the way, and the petitioner would profusely thank us both. I began to grow tired of what was an obvious show for me, but since I had no idea whether these were real people with real problems or not, I couldn’t disengage from the proceedings.

I was pretty sure that at least the woman who asked me to bless her newborn daughter — a weird but welcome reprieve — was genuine, by the downward tug of the Darkling’s mouth as he sat through it. I could tell the woman was on the verge of saying “Sankta” several times and only barely managed to keep herself in check.

As the light streaming through the three tiers of windows darkened to late afternoon gold, the _oprichniki_ brought in the next petitioner. Another farmer, by the sturdiness of his clothes, his well-worn boots not entirely scrubbed clean of the mud of the harvest.

“ _Moi soverenye_.” The man bowed, low. “My name is Anton Kunetsev. I stand before you today because there is a beast plaguing our flocks.”

The Darkling leaned forward in his throne. The keen interest shining in his eyes was genuine. This had not been staged for my benefit.

“Where are you from?” he asked, voice cool as ever. I wonder if I was the only one who heard the crackle of lightning belying it.

“The valleys east of the Sokol,” Kunetsev said.

“And what makes you think your flocks are under siege from something other than a common predator?”

“It’s very careful. It doesn’t like to show itself at night, and even when we keep watch we never see it. It doesn’t leave tracks like a bear. And the remains are clear in the morning.” He paused. “Two of my sheep were found mauled… and burnt.”

“Only sheep?”

“So far, but who knows if such a creature will remain satisfied with mere sheep.”

“Still, those are obvious tracks. I wonder if…” The Darkling sat back in his throne, rubbing idly at his chin. “Never mind. You’re dismissed.”

“Your pardon, _moi soverenyi_.” Kunetsev was clearly nervous. Even from where I sat, I could see sweat shining on his brow. “I was told there was a reward for news of the beast. Normally I would not impose but, ah, I spared no expense in getting here quickly, and—”

“Yes, yes.” The Darkling waved him off. “You’ll have your reward.”

“And compensation for the loss of his sheep, right?” I asked. “That shouldn’t go overlooked.”

He turned his head to look at me.

“We wouldn’t know of this beast if not for the sheep,” I pressed. “And even losing two can be a hardship for a small farmer—”

“Fine,” he allowed. A true concession. “Extra for the sheep. Settle your affairs with the steward. This audience is adjourned.”

The doors on either side of the throne opened. The Darkling and I stood and began to make our way down the dais steps. I could think only of how much I wanted a glass of water and to yell at the Darkling for his obvious ploy. But, with a sinking feeling, I knew that the petitioners we heard today were probably all real, just vetted as Ivanov had been. I had changed their lives in real ways. That was worth something, to me if not to him, but not enough.

Neither of us had noticed that Kunetsev had not been escorted out until he cast himself at my feet.

“ _Moi soverenyi_ is most generous,” he said, catching the hem of my _kefta_ and kissing it. He had seemed reasonable before, but now there was a spark of religious fervor in his eyes. “I had heard tales of—”

He reeled backward with a scream. A blindfold of living shadow had wrapped itself around his head. I recoiled, then looked behind me, at where the Darkling stood, one hand ungloved, face a perfect unreadable mask but eyes alight with rage.

“Keep your filthy hands off her,” he said, a deadly chill in his voice.

Kunetsev was clawing at the darkness on his face, trying to make it release him. I crouched down beside him, unsure of what to do. I knew I could cut through the Darkling’s power, but I didn’t want to hurt him by accident. I rested a hand on his shoulder. “Close your eyes,” I murmured.

He gasped then nodded, stilling, although I could feel him trembling under my hand. I drew a steady breath and called a soft glow to the center of my palm, as I had in the cellar, then waved my hand back and forth over the writhing darkness, once, twice. It dissipated like smoke on the wind. Kunetsev fell forward in relief.

“Sankta Alina,” he gasped. “You truly are— all that they say, and more. Thank you, thank you.”

“I wasn’t about to let you lose your sight for something silly like that.” I pulled back from him before he could take my hands and kiss them, too. “But you’ve made your gratitude more than known. No more Sankta business, okay? I think it upsets him.”

The Darkling scoffed. “Come, Alina.”

I ignored him, and asked Kunetsev, “Will you be alright?”

“ _Alina_.” My husband pulled his glove back on. “Before I decide he’d be better off without those hands.”

I stood, hands balling into fists at my side. I looked back at Kunetsev, who was being collected by the _oprichniki_ as we walked away. “He didn’t mean any harm,” I insisted. “I don’t understand what happened. He seemed so sane.”

“You have that effect. You’re too kind to them.” The Darkling swept me out of the throne room and into the small anteroom behind it. “They think they can do whatever they want to you.”

“He was trying to show his appreciation. He wasn’t trying to bed me.”

“You aren’t his to touch.”

“I’m not _anyone_ ’s to touch,” I snarled. “Especially not yours.”

His grey eyes grew dark with the promise of a storm. “I wed you, Alina. You are mine.”

I threw up my hands. “There you go again, throwing around our marriage like it means something when you _know_ I don’t even re—”

“ _Moi soverenye_.”

We turned to see an _oprichniki_ captain standing in the doorway of the antechamber. Still agitated, the Darkling ran a hand through his hair. “Dimitri. Yes. Send a scouting party to the fields east of the Sokol. See if you can’t find some other trace of the beast.”

The _oprichnik_ bowed and left us. The rhythm of our argument had been broken, and now I was just thirsty and annoyed. “What are you hunting now?” I asked.

“I thought you wanted no part in my affairs.”

“That’s not what I—” I closed my eyes, opened them again. “The last time you went hunting, I ended up with a collar around my neck that still hasn’t come off.”

“Actually, it was the fetter,” he said, indicating at the scales on my wrist.

“Just another reason to consider this my business.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be receiving any trophies even if the beast is caught. It’s an annoyance. Not just the creature itself, but tales of it spreading like wildfire through the countryside. It needs to be contained, now.”

I wanted to ask whether he meant to make it a part of his bizarre one-beast menagerie in the wine cellar, but restrained myself. “All right, sure. But what is it? What are you chasing down?”

“Rumors,” he said. “Of a dragon.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know where you’d go if they let you out? I don’t.”
> 
> The monster’s wings flapped once, then stilled.
> 
> “You miss flying,” I interpreted. “I get that. I miss… possibility. Potential.” I paused. “But between Keramzin, the army, and here, I wonder if I ever really had it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 9 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/630067597938966528/do-you-know-where-youd-go-if-they-let-you-out-i).

“Time to eat,” I announced, setting my dinner tray down on the grimy cellar floor. The monster padded over to the bars and sat, waiting, scenting the air. He poked one claw out through the bars, swiping for the tray.

“Hey, be patient.” I set the little gaslamp on the tray aside before he could knock it over. Even the Sun Summoner couldn't conjure light with her hands full, and the cellar was impossible to navigate without it. “Should be something good, though. _Smells_ good, and I asked for red meat… let’s hope it’s not stew again.”

Of course, because my husband preferred food that non-royalty ate, even when I asked for meat I might be given something jellied or stewed. This wouldn’t be a problem if I was asking for myself, but the monster turned his nose up at jellied meat and it was impossible to fit a bowl of stew through the bars. There was one night where I’d had to make a game of flicking bits of beef from the stroganoff into the monster’s mouth. The monster, a carnivore through and through, was not remotely interested in the remaining noodles and sauce. He didn’t seem to mind snapping up the bits of beef, but I felt bad about the meager meal and had chucked him one of the game hens as a supplement.

I lifted up one of the silver lids. “Lamb chops!” I exclaimed. There were three of them nestled prettily together on the fine porcelain plate. “Perfect.”

The creature remained crouched by the bars. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging. I gingerly poked the first chop through the bars with my fork, and he snapped it up greedily in his jaws, settling down a few feet away to chew loudly.

“I’m not going to take it from you,” I muttered, but there was no reply other than the snapping of bone.

I nudged the other two chops within his reach, then removed one of the smaller lids, revealing a bowl of cabbage stew. Familiar, comforting. My stomach growled. Using my powers to sneak into the cellar everyday had reawakened my appetite. As the monster made a meal of the meat, I picked up the bowl in my hands and slurped it down. It wasn’t like anyone down here cared about bad manners. Between us, we managed to lick my dinner trays clean nearly every night.

“Where does it all go?” I heard one palace servant ask another once as I crept invisibly by, trying not to let the platters rattle around. “She’s so slender.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Slender” was a very generous word for what I was. Genya had been slender; I was a twig. At least I was now less skin and bones than I had been, and my coloring was improving every day. Natalia had recently commented on the luster of my hair, which at its healthiest shone like the pearls in my _kokochnik_ , and, despite its whiteness, didn’t make me look much older at all.

In the last few weeks, I had begun to request more food, especially more meat, and I knew some of the servants gossipped that I was now eating for two. That maybe my mysterious illness had truly been a miscarriage, and now the Darkling and I were finally making other attempts at an heir.

“Ridiculous,” I muttered to myself. If they were really paying attention they’d notice that neither of us had physically been in the other one’s rooms at night since my reawakening. I only saw him on the occasions that he “requested my presence” — summoned me — for breakfast. Although I guess time of day wasn’t exactly a limiting factor when it came to marital activities. I took up a piece of rye bread and dragged it aggressively through the dark sauce on the plate where the lamb chops had rested, letting it soak before taking a big bite.

After that terrible audience in the throne room, my life had finally smoothed into a kind of routine. With the puzzle of the supposed dragon to solve and my faculties mostly restored, the Darkling seemed less preoccupied with what I was doing every moment of the day, although I was sure that dark void inside of him had room for two obsessions at once. Still, he would call me to dine with him a couple of mornings a week, helping himself to herring and rye while he watched me eat porridge or pastries. Sometimes we would sit in silence as I steadfastly tried to pretend he wasn’t there. Other times, he would ask me what I was reading and if I had questions for him. Since many of my questions were along the lines of _Was this battle actually a battle or was it another slaughter?_ I usually refrained.

Then, if I didn’t have to make a rare public appearance, I would take a walk with Natalia, inside the conservatory when the weather was too bad and in the gardens when it wasn’t. Twice, I managed to persuade her to come with me and pick apples from low-hanging boughs in the little grove, which we ate sliced and drizzled with honey. After she left, I would close the curtains in my room and practice calling light, testing my abilities as best I could. When I tired, I would spend some time drawing. Dinner would come, and I’d cloak myself in invisibility, sneak out of my room, and go to share my food with the monster. In that way, I _was_ eating for two. Just not how the gossip meant.

Usually, I brought a book with me to read aloud. Some of the tomes were so dense and academic that if I tried to read them alone, the words would run together and I wouldn’t understand a thing. I was grateful my time at Keramzin had taught me to read, but it hadn’t made me a scholar.

After the monster had sucked the marrow from the lamb bones, he settled down on his stomach and looked up at me. There was a surprising spark of intelligence in his gaze, and a strange gentleness, too, tempering his predatory nature. I got the sense that he was grateful for any company at all.

“I’ll be done soon,” I said, wiping crumbs from my fingers with a white cloth napkin. The one thing I couldn’t carry down here was a samovar, and I longed for tea to wash my meal down. “What do you think we should read tonight? The one about me?”

The monster yawned.

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

But I felt myself smiling. Over our weeks of acquaintance, I’d begun to think of my strange creature as a “he” rather than an “it.” Even if he wasn’t exactly human, he was closer than I first thought. Sometimes I thought he might even have a sense of humor.

“I don’t really know if you can understand me,” I admitted. “But I appreciate you listening anyway. Although, well, you’re sort of a captive audience.”

From the other side of the bars, the creature snorted. I pretended he was unimpressed with my terrible pun.

“Me, too. That was pretty bad.” I gnawed contemplatively on a knob of bread crust. “Do you know where you’d go if they let you out? I don’t. I’ve thought about it. The original plan was for me and Mal to go to Novyi Zem. Start over.”

The monster’s wings flapped once, then stilled.

“You miss flying,” I interpreted. “I get that. I miss… possibility. Potential.” I paused. “But between Keramzin, the army, and here, I wonder if I ever really had it.”

I sighed and sat with my back to the Grisha steel bars. The monster padded over to me, claws scraping against the floor, and stuck his nose between the bars to nudge at my shoulder. I reached behind me to pat him on the head. He didn’t so much as try to nip at my fingers. We had an accord now, this monster and I. I fed him, and it wouldn’t eat me.

“My book, then,” I said quietly, taking the green volume that Genya’s son had written out of the pocket of my _kefta_. “I keep avoiding it, but we can’t always read about putting down peasant revolts in the early years of the Darkling’s reign.” Whenever we did, I remembered the frightened faces of the people of Novokribirsk as the Fold rushed toward them, and felt slightly nauseated.

I could admit that I was being cowardly. I was afraid of learning that I’d somehow betrayed who I thought I was, maybe that I really had killed Mal. The ribbon I’d placed in the book marked a chapter on what happened just after Mal and I had fled for Novyi Zem. I’d barely left familiar territory. I cleared my throat and began to read for both of us.

“‘It was apparent to those advising him that the Darkling could easily have taken Ravka at this time. He maintained control over the majority of the experienced Grisha in the Second Army, and Alina Starkov, the only person who might counter his unique abilities, had fled with no intention of building an army of her own. With his terrifying new power—’” _Summoning shadow soldiers_ , I had learned earlier in this chapter, although it still defied belief. “‘—he might have marched on Os Alta and ended the Civil War before it began. But he was not willing to let Starkov slip from his grasp, and everyone was too fearful of him to press the issue.’ Yeah, that sounds right.”

The monster lipped at my hair.

“I’m not _dessert_ ,” I chided, swatting at him. “Let me read.”

He grumbled, but settled back down again. I read until the end of that chapter and into the next, which began to clear up the mystery of how I had acquired my fetter of scales — in the unlikely company of the famous Ravkan privateer, Sturmhond — but I stopped when I heard the monster snoring softly behind me. Time to go.

* * *

I was just placing my dinner tray in front of my door to be collected by a servant when I heard it: the faint, lovely sound of someone playing a violin.

At first I thought I was imagining it. I had never heard music in this part of the Grand Palace, and definitely never this late at night. Something about the melody caught me, bore me on its back like a wind, rising and falling. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, then shook my head. Music was always a luxury, something unobtainable — the piano at Keramzin I’d had my knuckles rapped for banging on tunelessly when I was a little girl, that no one had ever taught me to play. Surely it couldn’t hurt to get closer to something that was now being freely given.

I followed the wafting tune down the shadowy corridor like a sleepwalker, basking in the smooth runs of the melody, the tremulous vibrato. It had been so long since I’d experienced anything uncomplicated and beautiful. I don’t know that I remembered the last time. Maybe it was Genya combing my hair in the Little Palace. Maybe it was Mal kissing me in the snow.

My invisibility flickered and died. There were no servants to kindly take me by the elbow and lead me back to my room. It seemed like the entirety of the Grand Palace was asleep, aside from me and the musician playing the violin. The light from the single open door was low and warm, and I drifted toward it like a moth toward a flame, aching to be close, uncaring of burns.

Somehow, I was surprised to peer through the doorway and see the Darkling with his back to me, facing one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the palace grounds. But who else could it be? He seemed to be deep in concentration, his fingers dancing on the strings of a beautiful red fiddle, playing a song that was obviously very familiar to him. His head was bowed slightly, and it nodded a little in time with the music. In the reflection of the window, I saw that his eyes were closed.

I guess I should have left, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. From the eerie perfection of the music I could have guessed that it was him playing, but he never struck me as a person with hobbies beyond stringing along vulnerable girls and ruling the world.

When the song began to slow, he opened his eyes. He noticed my reflection in the panes of glass before I could duck back around the doorframe, and gave a slight jolt, like I’d caught him doing something intimate. I guess I had.

“Alina,” he said, lowering the bow, the instrument, as he spoke to my reflection. “I thought you were in your room.”

I opened my mouth to respond, and then I remembered just how manipulative he was and closed it, reconsidering what I wanted to say. “My room isn’t that far. You knew I’d hear.”

“Maybe I did. Is hoping you’d come this way another of my many crimes?” He half-turned toward me. He wasn’t wearing his _kefta_ , but a dressing gown that slightly resembled one, black embroidered with gold. It was tied at the waist, but peeked open enough at the neck for me to see his collarbones, that his chest was bare.

I decided to suddenly find the piano that stood opposite him very interesting. “This is a music room?”

“Mm.”

“I didn’t know you liked…” I trailed off, then made myself finish the stupid sentence. “... music.”

The Darkling raised an eyebrow. “Who doesn’t like music?”

“Some people. And you don’t seem to like very much at all.”

“Some things I do like.” He smiled at me.

I flapped out a hand, trying to steer the conversation anywhere else. “Well, don’t stop playing on my account.”

“Very well.” He put the violin to shoulder again, settling his chin on it and resting the bow across the strings. To himself, I heard him say, “Perhaps something…”

When he began to play again, the song was slower, more somber. Again, without wanting to, I found myself transfixed by it. I took a step closer, then glanced at the window; his eyes were shut again. He couldn’t see me. I was safe. Quietly, I entered the room and cast around for somewhere to sit, deciding on the low green couch against the back wall.

As far as lies went, his playing was a sweet one, probably harmless. The song was sad, and whether it was a lament for Ravka or lost love or something like that, he played like someone who felt very deeply and was more comfortable talking through music than words. I didn’t believe that, but it was still nice to let the music wash over me. I found myself slightly hypnotized by the fluidity of his bowing, the artful precision of his fingers.

 _Sad was the wrong word_ , I realized. _Yearning is what this is_. In the gaps between the low, mournful notes and the high keening ones, yearning was everywhere, a subtle sort, like the undercurrent of a slow-moving stream. There was peace on the surface, but yearning lurked beneath, ready to pull you under when you weren’t expecting. I understood that. I still found myself looking for Mal around every corner, in every shadow. Not just him, but the entire life I’d hoped for, all the possibilities we might have had that died when he did, nearly a century ago.

Could the Darkling understand what that was like? The music said he might; all of his actions said he couldn’t. In the end, it didn’t really matter. There was something cathartic in riding the wave of his melodious lie, and I let myself crest and break along with it. The knot in me came unwound, just a little, at how, in this quiet moment, it was finally acknowledged.

Soon enough, I felt my eyelids grow heavy, my chin begin to dip. I blinked myself awake, but drifted again, and again, until it seemed like a pointless thing to fight, sleep. It’s not like I was worried about offending him. The worst thing would be to dream.

I must have fallen asleep for at least a little while, because the next thing I was aware of was an arm sliding under my knees, then another around my back, before I was gently lifted from the sofa.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, eyes still closed, even as I hypocritically dug my fingers into the fabric of his dressing gown for support. “No way.”

“You can’t sleep here, Alina,” the Darkling murmured, his breath tickling my forehead. “I’ll take you back to your room.”

I turned my face against his chest, forgetting that his robe was partially open; his skin was warm. He was all lean muscle, strong. I felt the rush of surety that came with the brush of his skin on mine and squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

“You’re so light,” he remarked, carrying me down the hall. “You haven’t been eating enough.”

“Not hungry,” I mumbled.

“I know you’ve been sharing your food with your friend in the cellar,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “You spend too much time down there.”

My shoulders tensed. I didn’t realize he knew that. “It’s not like I have anyone else to spend time with,” I pointed out, with as much venom as was possible under the circumstances. “Everyone else is a spy.” _Or you_.

He said nothing for a minute or so, not until I felt him shoulder open the door to my room. “I was thinking we should take a trip, you and I.”

I opened one eye. The prospect of leaving the palace seemed too good to be true. “Where?”

“The Fjerdan front.”

“How romantic,” I said, dryly.

He set me down on my bed, on top of the covers. I turned onto my side, away from him. I wanted to look at him, wanted to know what his face was doing, but didn’t want to give him any satisfaction.

“There are other options, few of them romantic. Unfortunately, when you rule a nation, romance has little to do with anything.” He paused. “But I did think you might benefit from a change of scenery.”

I pressed my face into my pillow. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“And now you go.”

“Yes.” After a pause, he said, “I’m glad you joined me this evening, Alina. It’s always more rewarding to play for an audience.”

When I picked up my head to look after him, he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Like calls to like_. The loneliness in you calls to the loneliness in me. That’s what truly binds us.”
> 
> “Anyone can be lonely,” I muttered. “It doesn’t make you special.”
> 
> “We’ll see,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter ten is [here](https://judeling.com/post/630249165331562496/like-calls-to-like-the-loneliness-in-you-calls).

We set out from Os Alta two days later. I had asked if Natalia would come, but she was to stay at the Little Palace to supervise some Grisha trainees. She offered to find me other handmaidens, but I declined; I could dress myself, and it wasn’t like the Darkling kept attendants. Instead, we were accompanied by a dozen _oprichniki_ and a half-dozen Grisha: a retinue of Corporalki and, oddly enough, Squallers.

Being queen came with benefits and drawbacks. I hadn’t packed my own trunk, nor had I done my own hair. Natalia pinned it up in tight, interwoven curls and tied a black scarf tightly around them, telling me to take the pins out when we arrived at our destination and run my fingers through my hair. “You can brush it once,” she said, “but no more than once.” Ominous, but I didn’t argue.

I found a moment to slip away and tell the monster that I was leaving, but I would be back, although I wasn’t sure it understood what either of those things meant. There was gnawing guilt when I looked in those intelligent black eyes, the wings made for flying. I was getting out, but it couldn’t.

Of course, leaving the palace didn’t mean I was free of my cage. I was reminded of that on the rainy evening when I was bundled into a long horseless carriage — car — with the Darkling and a third of his _oprichniki_ guard. As we rumbled down the paved Os Alta streets, I looked out the window and turned my thoughts, out of exhaustion and obligation, toward escape. I could probably take care of the guards with the Cut, although it would be better to just blind them without killing. I wished I had my mirrored gloves.

The Darkling was an insurmountable hurdle, almost as much as not knowing where I could escape _to_. I sighed, and tried to ignore my rising nausea. I didn’t like the car, the way I felt every bump of cobblestone, every pothole.

The train, though. The train was a different story.

It stood waiting for us on a private platform, all black metal and gilded seams and glass windows, linked cars that seemed infinite though I counted ten. One of them had a roof that seemed entirely made of Fabrikator-fortified glass, barely visible in the night. Steam hissed gently from the head of the train. It looked to me almost as impossible as a dragon, surely a feat that would have been unachievable in my lifetime. Ravka had trains, sure, limited rail networks meant to transport grain and troops, only just branching out. After all, my country was poor. It wasn’t crisscrossed by _railways_.

I climbed out of the car when the door was opened for me, shielded from the rain by an _oprichnik_ who held an umbrella above my head. The royal train was dotted with our symbols, alternating the sun and the sun in eclipse. _A little on the nose_ , I thought, wrinkling mine. My power dwarfed by his, even if we were equally represented.

But even that wasn’t enough to dampen the marvel of the train. The Darkling came up beside me, another _oprichnik_ keeping his head dry with another raised umbrella. “What do you think?”

We hadn’t spoken since the night he’d carried me back to my room, and this seemed like a strange overture, but I remembered him asking what I thought of the Grand Palace when I caught my first sight of it. Maybe I was also supposed to find the train hideous. “It’s so…”

“Black?” he asked dryly, pulling on his gloves. “I assumed you would have complaints.”

“Modern,” I said, a breathless sigh. I couldn’t help but stare at the train, at its sleek metal body, the shiny bolts holding it all together. I had never seen one up close before.

“And yet decades old. We should be in Kribirsk in thirty-six hours.”

“A day and a half? That’s it?” I knew all too well that days of hard riding were needed to reach Os Alta. My body ached faintly with remembrance.

“Inferni conductors and infrequent stops,” he said, nodding toward the engine. “It’s a testament to Ravkan engineering. The fusion of technology and Grisha power. Come.”

I still resented being called like a pet, but I wanted to explore the train, so I climbed in after him as the porters dealt with our trunks. The fat late autumn raindrops pattered on the roof of the carriage as the Darkling slid open a door to a compartment.

“This is yours,” he said quietly, but I would have known it even if he had said nothing. I could see myself here, in the midnight blue silk of the curtains and the cherry wood paneling, the summer sky upholstery and the gilding, the bits of white ribbon interwoven throughout. It fit like the familiar blue-and-gold _kefta_ I’d worn when I had tried to be just another Summoner, like the one blue silk robe in my wardrobe. I almost sat down on the berth, which beckoned me, plush and welcoming, but I didn’t want to do that while he was still in the room.

“It’s lovely,” I replied, equally quiet, running a hand over the wood of the wall. I could see myself drawing at the beautiful oak desk, reading in the little nest of pillows on the berth. Whoever I had been, that other Alina, had left this comfortable place that also suited me.

“There’s another car I want to show you,” he said, and he walked back out into the narrow hallway. I followed, filled with longing at leaving the room and curiosity at what we might see next.

I was somehow not surprised to be led into the glass compartment, which turned out to be a salon filled with elegant mahogany furniture and comfortable leather chairs and lit by bronze sconces on the walls, just below where the glass began. I still nearly gasped when we were standing under the domed roof with what looked like naked sky above us. The only way I knew we weren’t outside was that we weren’t getting soaked by the steady rain.

“You always loved this place,” he said, like he was speaking to himself. “Sometimes I would find you here in the middle of the night, just watching the stars. I thought you might like to see it again.”

There was a screech and a slight jerk as the train began to pull out of the station. We both felt the tug of it, but stood our ground.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

He turned and looked at me, his face unreadable.

“Why are we going to Kribirsk?” I pressed, now that I had his attention. “It’s not a military base. I thought you wanted to take me to the front.”

“Do you want to go to the front?”

“No.”

“So we won’t.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked again.

The corners of his mouth turned down. “I already told you.”

“‘Only that which can be freely given.’ I know.” I planted my feet on the elegant carpet, grounding myself. “But what does that _mean_?”

“You wouldn’t believe me, _solnishka_.” He peeled off his gloves, his eyes never leaving my face. “And answers must also be given freely.”

He brushed past me and left the salon. I considered storming after him, but figured that was probably what he wanted. With no answers and many questions, I sat in the salon and watched the sky, listening to the drumming of the rain.

* * *

The next morning I woke from another dream of Mal, startled by the movement of the train, unsure of where I was. Once I remembered, once I had collected myself, I slid open the door to my room, yawned, and squinted into the hallway. I turned toward where I thought I remembered the washroom was and found myself face to face with the Darkling, who was emerging from the compartment adjacent to mine. His hair was rumpled and his robe was untied, but no one would know otherwise that he had just risen; no dark circles or puffy eyes for him.

“You,” I stammered, taking a step back. “Did you sleep there the whole night?”

A crease of bemusement formed between his dark brows. “Yes.”

“Right there?”

“We have neighboring suites in the palace.”

“I know that,” I snapped. I didn’t want to explain that our bedrooms in the palace were massive, our beds at opposite ends of them, and that I was uneasy with the only barrier between us being some flimsy wood paneling. I shook my head. “Washroom?”

He gestured, and I ducked past him. But before I could disappear behind the safety of the door, he said, “I’ll see you in the dining car, Alina.”

Ignoring him, I shut myself in. The washroom was as fancy as everything else, with a porcelain basin and even a copper clawfoot tub, although I couldn’t imagine bathing on a train. As I splashed water on my face, I thought about going hungry just to avoid him, but there didn’t seem to be much point. It wasn’t like I could do it easily while we were confined to the space of a few train cars. I dressed, tightened my scarf around my pin curls, and went to find breakfast.

I had to cross through the salon again to reach the dining car. The sky was overcast and a faint drizzle misted the salon’s glass, but the sun, straining to peek through, lined some of the clouds in silver. The Darkling sat in the middle of the dining car’s long wooden table, talking casually with some of the _oprichniki_ and two of the Squallers, whom he waved out when he saw me enter.

“You can stay,” I called after them, only half-hoping they would.

“There will be time for that later,” he said. “Sit. Order anything you like.”

“I don’t know what I like.” So when the charcoal-clad server entered a moment later, I told him that whatever the cook recommended would do.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray: blini stuffed with cherries, tart and sweet despite not being in season, and a warm chocolate drink that the Darkling said they drank in Kerch. He watched with amusement, or maybe envy, as I experimented with dunking pieces of blini in the liquid chocolate. It turned out to be a delicious cultural fusion.

“You have questions,” he said at last.

I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. “ _Now_ you want to talk?”

He shrugged. “You already know what I’m not willing to answer. And I know you have other questions.”

I paused, chewing on my forkful of blini. Fine, personal questions were off-limits. It wasn’t like I was desperate to learn about his interior life anyway. “How is any of this possible?” I asked. “This train, that salon. You said Ravkan industry, mechanics and Grisha craft, but Ravkan industry doesn’t exist. Didn’t.”

“You chose a fine time to ask,” he said. “Look out the window.”

I turned around in my seat, peering out the curtained window. At first I saw only barren Ravkan countryside, but then the edges of a town rose from almost nothing, and massive structures beside it, chimneys belching black smoke into the sky.

“None of the old tsars were ready for the new age,” the Darkling said, as I looked at the factories with horror and fascination. “Some still say we lag behind, and certainly no one matches the Fjerdans when it comes to machinery, but we don’t need machinery. We’re where we need to be, and those who sneer at us fear us all the same.”

“What do they make?” I asked, once again feeling small in the face of this vast new world.

“Cars, trains, airships. Agricultural tools, textiles. Whatever is needed. Now that Ravka isn’t always being cannibalized by her neighbors or slowly bleeding from the Fold, there’s room to rebuild. We inherited quite the mess, you and I.”

I righted myself in my chair, looking down at my half-eaten breakfast. “Was it fear that made all that possible? All that rebuilding? Did you set the Fold on Ravka again?”

He sat back in his chair. “I haven’t had to since the Civil War. Our countrymen have long memories, if not long lives. They see what it does to Fjerda and Shu Han and recall their grandparents’ stories. Besides, I have other tools.”

“That drug you told me about?” I asked. “The chemical amplifier?”

Darkness flickered in his face, then was gone. “ _Jurda parem_. It’s as powerful a weapon against our kind as it is an asset. It’s so addictive that if not given the antidote, a Grisha will die craving it, burnt out by their own flame, or their powers will mutate. No, it’s tightly controlled.”

He trailed off, and I shuddered. “So we don’t use it?”

“Oh, I never said that. I said it was tightly controlled.” He reached into an interior pocket of his _kefta_ and drew out two slim glass vials, one filled with a rust-colored powder, the other filled with green liquid. “A single dose and an antidote. As with amplifiers, only a select few are deemed worthy.”

“Have you taken it?”

He picked up both vials and put them back in his pocket. “Not yet.”

“Do I get some?”

The Darkling laughed, but it was broken glass, uneven. “I can’t trust you, Alina. For all I know, you’ll poison yourself to spite me.”

“It was worth a try,” I grumbled.

He pressed his lips tightly together. “So you would hold yourself hostage and rule _me_ through fear.”

I glared at him and snapped, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“We aren’t alike.”

“Of course not,” he said, almost gently. “You’ve always been happy to make me the tyrant. By some accounts I have been one, Alina. But fear has kept Ravka moving forward and kept its neighbors in line. Fear ensures that the trains run, that factories are built, that our Grisha are protected. Why should I apologize for progress? If I sought the people’s love, I would be little more than an old fool, long deposed.”

“It’s easier to force fear than love,” I pointed out. “You can make people fear you, but you can’t make them love you.”

“Ravka wants a strong leader,” he said, standing abruptly. “She always has. The morning’s reports were run in when we stopped in Balakirev. I should review them. Your books and some of your drawing supplies are in your room. You’ll have to amuse yourself for a while.”

“I can manage,” I said dryly.

“Good.” His voice held no trace of irony. He left, presumably for his cabin, and I finished breakfasting in welcome silence.

* * *

I spent a quiet day on the train, mostly in the glass-domed salon. I fetched my books and supplies from my room and set up at one of the tables, reading, making notes, sketching — Mal, as usual, and some of the elegant furniture after my head began to hurt from missing him. As advertised, a steward checked on me periodically to see if I wanted anything, water, _kvas_ , food. I was looked after, maybe even a little stifled.

When the train stopped in the early afternoon at a rural station, I got off, escorted by the _oprichnik_ with the umbrella, to stretch my legs. It seemed to me that we were well outside of any town, but a uniformed officer rushed to the train carrying a leather case, which he handed off to another _oprichnik_ with a salute. Absorbed in his mission, he didn’t notice me until after he had turned to leave, and compensated with a crisp bow before continuing on his way.

My husband reappeared in the salon later, perusing what appeared to be a Fjerdan newspaper, dated yesterday. I didn’t ask. I remembered what he’d said about knowing what his enemies were reading about him, and I assumed that was what passed for research where he was concerned. Ravka’s king would need to know what other countries were up to.

As if pulled by invisible puppet strings, I found my hand sketching the perfect lines of his face, the way he lounged in his seat almost boyishly. There were faint scars on his face that were barely visible except in certain light, that had been _nearly_ Tailored away, and I wondered why he had chosen to keep them.

I didn’t like him, but he was what I had, and despite my revulsion at all that he’d done, some part of me was still shamefully fascinated by him.

He looked up. I crumpled up the drawing and threw it into the wastebasket.

* * *

We ate dinner in shifts, and I retreated to my cabin when it grew dark to read my history books. It was difficult to focus. I kept glancing at the partition between our rooms, wondering what the Darkling was doing. Spreading terror from the comfort of his own berth? I found myself listening for any sign of movement from his cabin and shook my head. Surely there was only so much damage he could do from a train.

As I thought it, I felt my antler collar pulse and was startled to find myself standing in the middle of his cabin. From what I could make of my blurry surroundings, it was much the same as mine. I saw him there, at his desk, poring over reports. That was all. He was just reading, like me. I willed the connection to break.

“Do you need something?” he asked coolly. He seemed to be ignoring me on purpose, but there was a gleam in his eye that suggested he liked my presence.

I huffed, but told him the truth. “I don’t like knowing that you’re so close but not being able to see you.”

“You could always come in here.”

“No, thanks.”

“Afraid I’ll try something or afraid I’ll succeed?”

“Afraid you’ll annoy me to death,” I scoffed.

“A possibility I had not considered,” he mused. “That’s not how you’ll die, Alina.”

“You never know.”

“And there’s another bed in this cabin. You don’t need to share mine.”

I didn’t know what to say for a solid minute. “Why’s there another bed?”

“Because the one in here is too narrow to comfortably sleep two.” A non-answer if there ever was one. “Feel free to join me if you can’t sleep. I’ll be awake for a while yet.”

He waved his hand, sending me back into my body, only a few short meters away. I growled my frustration, nearly knocking my books off my desk.

I didn’t want him to have his way, but the more I tried to forget the offer the more firmly it lodged in the back of my brain, an unscratchable itch. Tamping down on it just made it worse. I paced a few laps up and down the train car. I went to the kitchen and requested another cup of that warm chocolate drink I’d had in the morning, carrying it back to my cabin.

Finally I could on longer stand it. I changed into the most modest pajamas that had been packed for me, a loosely fitting set of matching top and trousers, pale blue with white embroidered leaves at the hems, then slipped from my cabin into his.

To my frustration, he just barely glanced up at me from his desk. “I knew you would come. You always do.”

I clutched the mug of chocolate in my hands like it was a shield. “I want to keep an eye on you.”

“You felt it, didn’t you? The other night, when I played for you. When I carried you to your room.”

I cast my eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, you’re a living amplifier.”

“Not that. _Like calls to like._ The loneliness in you calls to the loneliness in me. That’s what truly binds us.”

“Anyone can be lonely,” I muttered. “It doesn’t make you special.”

“We’ll see,” he said.

I set the empty mug down on his desk and climbed up into the top bunk. I could tell that this really had been my nest in a past life. He had extra pillows to pad the berth; I fit perfectly. It was weird to slot into the spaces that had been carved out for me over the course of a life I didn’t remember.

I asked, “What are you reading?”

“Telegrams. Reports from the fronts.”

“It’s a cold war,” I said, repeating the term from one of my history books. “Is there much to report?”

“An impressive student, as ever. Unfortunately, a cold war is still a war. Much can be read into the movements of troops. There are skirmishes at the borders. Proxy conflicts across the sea. Here we have intelligence regarding the development of new weapons, or intelligence on the intelligence apparati of other nations.” He sighed, sounding truly weary. “Staying my hand was a mistake. I should have wiped them all from the map long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, propping my head up on one hand. “You used the Fold to threaten Shu Han recently, so clearly you have some way to enter it without me.”

He nodded. “I do, yes. But none so efficient as entering it with you.”

I turned over onto my back, the cabin’s ceiling mere inches from my face. “I’m honestly surprised there’s still a world left.”

The Darkling was quiet for a minute, then set his pen down. “You asked me once if I would like to be the king of nothing. I suppose you don’t remember now. It was early in our marriage, and we were barely speaking. But I had announced my intent to enter the Fold and strangle the Shu Han, and you asked me when I would be satisfied, deciding for yourself that it would only be when nothing remained but myself and you and the monsters of the dark. King of the _nichevo’ya_ , the nothings.”

“Was I right?”

“That may satisfy me. It might yet.” He paused. “But it would not satisfy you. And so the world remains.”

When he had finished speaking, there was no sound but the steady chugging of the train and the heavy thump of my heart against my ribs.

“That’s a nice story to tell a lost girl,” I told him.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“How much of it is true?”

He laughed, bitterly. “Alina, it was a civil conversation.”

I folded my arms. “All you’ve ever done is toy with me. I’m not about to take you at your word.”

I heard the scrape of the chair as he stood, his sigh heavy with ancient weariness. When I looked over, he was leaning back against the desk, both his hands braced on the edge of it, watching me in my berth. “When I was a young boy, younger than you believe that you are now, I vowed to create a safe place for the Grisha. I am succeeding, for now.” He looked down. “It was you who reminded me the victory would be bitter if they were all dead with their oppressors. Not in words so much as tenacity. I could defeat you in battle, wed you, threaten to torture innocents, carry you onto the skiff myself, Alina, but I could not make you light my way.”

“Did you rage?” I asked quietly.

“Like a hurricane,” was his reply. “Like I hadn’t in centuries. You were either too deep in grief or too stubborn to notice. And so I was forced to… slow down. I returned to my original vow, and I saw it through. Our people are safe. Ravka is not at outright war.”

I shifted in the berth. “Either way, it’s all on my shoulders. Something happens to me, or I leave you, and the world—”

He gave me a cold smile. “I am ancient. You can’t expect me to have changed my ways or my heart so quickly.”

“No,” I intoned. “I guess a century is too short for that.”

“I still haven’t decided the fate of this world,” he said, his voice low. The way he said it was intimate, almost confessional. “When we met, I told you the age of Grisha power was coming to an end. With our remarkable gifts combined, and by embracing necessary innovation, we have prolonged the death gasp, not prevented it. Soon the Fjerdans, the Shu, or the Zemeni will finish developing a weapon with the Fold’s devastating power. There are whispers of it through our intelligence networks. The landscape will change again. The hand I have stayed may be forced.”

My skin prickled. “Or there might be another way.”

“Might there? It was hard enough persuading our neighbors to give up their Grisha, and still they hide some, thinking we won’t find them. The Fjerdan _drüskelle_ have gone to ground, but they have the support of their government and their people. And the Shu…”

“Erased my memory,” I prompted.

“Yes,” he said. Was there the briefest hesitation there, or had I imagined it?

“So they must have Grisha too.”

“I have neither forgotten nor forgiven, Alina.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “On that note, I have more work to do. You should rest.”

I held out a hand. I couldn’t help anyone if I remained in the dark. “We can divide it up. Give me some of those dispatches.”

To my surprise, he glanced at the desk, letting one of his hands skim over the pages there. He picked up a sheaf of paper from the bunch. “Is that really what you want?”

“You married me, so it’s my country, too,” I scoffed, waggling my fingers. “I might as well know the mess we’re in.”

He handed me the paper. “You may never sleep again.”

“That’s fine. I’d rather not.”

I said it flippantly, but it was a damning admission. Sleep was a mixed blessing. The only time I saw Mal’s face was to watch him die. I thought the Darkling might ask me what I meant, but he didn’t. After all, this was a man who knew something of nightmares.

I turned my attention to the memorandum on Fjerdan tank production. As the train rolled down the track toward Kribirsk, we sat up in the night, the immortal Ravkan rulers, reading together.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What would be the harm, Alina?” he asked, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “We’re already married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 11 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/630438720870465536/dont-i-said-again-my-palms-were-flat-against).

“Alina, wake up.”

Someone was gently shaking my shoulder. I turned my face into the pillows and made a rude gesture. I hadn’t slept well in weeks. If they wanted me to march to Kribirsk they could carry me or stick me in one of those nice coaches with the Grisha.

The voice sounded amused. “Alina, we’ll be there in an hour.”

I blinked my eyes open. I wasn’t in my stiff army bunk, but the padded berth of the royal train. Papers crinkled under my elbow. I had been sleeping with my mouth open and wiped some drool off my cheek. I’d never been an exceptionally graceful sleeper, but there was never anyone I had to impress. At least I didn’t snore. As far as I knew.

“Good morning.” The Darkling’s grey eyes twinkled with uncharacteristic levity. “No one’s dared make _that_ sign in my presence for a very long time.”

“Don’t.”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

I sat up, alarmed at the thought that he might have heard me speaking to Mal. That moment wasn’t for him. “What did I say?”

“Nothing important.” He offered me a hand. “You should dress.”

As I looked over the edge of the berth, I realized climbing down was a bit more daunting than climbing up. There was one foothold, then the drop. I eyed his hand, then slipped mine into it. _Only for a moment_ , I told myself, as I felt the inevitable rush of surety course through me. It was so unfair. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore unless he was touching me.

I slipped off the bed, one foot in the notch I’d used to climb up, then jumped down, half-falling. He caught me against him and held me fast. I fit so easily in his arms, my face pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, my heart beating against my ribcage like a songbird trying to get free.

The backs of my thighs bumped up against his narrow bunk. His grip on my arm tightened, and the fingers on his other hand splayed out at the flat of my back. I thought that I could almost taste the salt on his skin, feel his pulse under my lips. The rhythm of my own heartbeat sped to match it. My power swelled demandingly.

I could tell by the way his body tensed against mine that we both realized how easy it would be for him to tip me onto the berth. I knew what would happen if he did. And it felt like a small thing, giving him what he wanted. A small price for that certainty, that belonging, that peace. Maybe no price at all.

“Don’t,” I said again. My palms were flat against his chest.

“What would be the harm, Alina?” he asked, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “We’re already married.”

I shoved him, and he released me. Beneath our feet, the wheels of the train kept rolling, uncaring of our marital squabbles. I could hear only my own breath in my ears.

“You have an hour,” he said coldly. “Do what you like.”

I fled.

* * *

The sky was still heavy and grey when I stepped off the train outside of Kribirsk, the clouds looking fit to burst with rain, waiting like they, too, were holding their breath. I had taken my hair down as Natalia instructed, and it fell in waves over my black wool _kefta_ with its bear fur collar. I put a fur cap over it to keep my head warm and felt a little like I was splashing paint over someone else’s canvas, but even immortality wasn’t a shield against cold. She’d understand.

The Darkling emerged a moment later and guided me to another car, his hand barely skimming my back. I stiffened, and he took the hand away. The early morning had been a near miss in so many ways, and I didn’t want him to get comfortable with touching me.

Our car did not have a roof, so the two of us could be clearly seen in our matching _kefta_ , the living symbols of Ravkan strength. One _oprichnik_ guard sat in the front with the driver, his back turned to us. No doubt these people all knew that the Darkling and I could defend ourselves. As the porters unloaded the train, the _oprichniki_ and Grisha filed into black sedans behind ours. Theirs had roofs.

We made a somber procession in our shiny black cars, but as we approached Kribirsk proper I saw that the town had turned out for us — what looked like the entire population, lined up on roped off sidewalks. Gone was the sprawling military encampment, but there was more town than I remembered, and it was more permanent looking. Where there had been ramshackle taverns and shops now stood solid-looking buildings of brick and concrete, some several stories tall. A budding city, still growing. There was something grim and grey about the sprawl.

The people I could see waiting for us had turned out in what were probably their best clothes, but they were far more roughshod than I looked in one of the many beautiful _kefta_ that had been plucked from my wardrobe, meant for movement and daily wear. I scoured their faraway faces for traces of hunger or fear, and saw intent curiosity, delighted smiles, pointing fingers — and as we got closer, the motions of cheering. I had trouble telling what was real and what wasn’t. A child tossed a handful of flower petals onto the paved road to the amusement of the adults.

“So much cause for celebration,” I mused, and even I wasn’t sure if I was being sarcastic or not.

“It’s a work holiday for them,” said the Darkling with a shrug. “They enjoy themselves.”

“What are we doing here?”

“We’re here for a history lesson. We’re still a few months off from the centennial, but it was close enough.”

The centennial. A full century of his reign and, technically, mine. I remembered the performance we’d staged at the winter fete and asked, “Should we put on a show?”

“No.” He leaned back in his seat, his arm resting atop the door of the car. The master of all he saw. “Only people with something to prove have need of demonstrations. You can wave if you have it in you.”

I wasn’t sure I did. I pressed myself to the side of the car, looking out at the people. There were military men and women there too, lined up behind the civilians, hands to their foreheads, frozen in salute. A strange thought that they looked young came from somewhere deep in me. They looked _clean_ , too, not mud-splattered and tired as I had always been.

“Stop,” I murmured. It didn’t feel right to me, to speed down those roads in Kribirsk and ignore the people completely. I felt like I was looking through a fractured mirror at the day my life changed, remembering how I almost ended up under the uncaring wheels of the Darkling’s coach. I would have, if not for Mal. Maybe that would have been better.

I shook my head. None of that.

The Darkling glanced at me, but he raised a hand to signal the driver. The brakes groaned as the vehicle slowed then stopped. “What is it, Alina?” he asked. “You look pale.”

“I just want to look.” I cranked down the window and folded my arms over the door, resting my cheek on them. “Let’s drive slower. We’re in no hurry.”

“No, we’re not,” he agreed. I felt his eyes on my back. He brushed my hair over my shoulder, his fingers grazing the nape of my neck just above where the collar sat. I wanted to lean into his touch. I wanted to launch myself into the street.

The engine rumbled to life again, and the procession continued at no more than a few kilometers per hour. There were cheers from the spectators as we passed, but murmuring, too, murmurs of the Darkling’s title, and what must be mine. _Sankta Alina_ — that one was straightforward, although I still hadn’t figured out why I was considered a saint when I was clearly still alive. So was _Sol Koroleva_ , the Sun Queen. And one I barely caught, whispered furtively between older men and women, which made my skin prickle when I finally figured out what it was. _Captin’ye sankta_. The trapped saint.

I felt both resentment and relief. At least someone out there knew what I knew.

This was not a love story.

I managed a few smiles as we passed, a few waves, and though it all felt fake to me the people didn’t seem to care. Some of them reached for me. One woman started weeping when my eyes met hers. I hoped it wasn’t from terror.

As we slowly wove our way down the main thoroughfare of Kribirsk, the Shadow Fold loomed larger and closer in the periphery of my vision. I had the sudden thought that he wanted to enter it, that he wanted me to guide him. Despite the autumn chill, sweat broke out under my _kefta_. He seemed as cool as ever, lounging in the car, looking out at his eternal subjects. It didn’t seem like a military expedition, but…

There was a break in the Fold, like someone had cut a channel into it. It was a few hundred yards wide, and walls of solid blackness towered on either side of it, reaching up into the sky. On the other side lay a distant town, a rebuilt Novokribirsk. I wondered if it had another name. A road had been paved across the break to one side, a single line of railroad tracks laid across the other. In the middle stretched the barren sands. Nothing grew there even now.

The car finally stopped at the mouth of it. The driver opened the door and helped me down. The Darkling emerged from the other side of the car. Together, we walked to the place where the road spilled onto the sands, and stopped.

“The Crossing,” I whispered, remembering the name I’d seen on his map. “How did this happen?” He’d called it my wedding gift to Ravka, but I knew that couldn’t be right.

“You tell me,” he said.

Maybe it was a test. Maybe he harbored hope that coming back here, to the place where it had all begun for me, to the place where I had surrendered, would awaken my memories. But that didn’t happen. I stepped out onto the sand, soft and weighty beneath my boots.

“I know,” I said. Not because I remembered, or because I’d read it in a history book. I knew because I dreamed it nearly every night.

I walked a little further out into the Crossing, which had been blocked off from both sides just for us. Just for me. When I was far enough out, I knelt down in the colorless sands of the Fold, removing one of my gloves, picking up a handful and letting it slide between my fingers. It was cool to the touch. I always associated sand with beaches, lakes, idyllic summers spent by heroines in books I read at Keramzin. By someone other than me, the shabby orphan with her steadfast best friend.

“Oh, Mal,” I whispered. His blood was long gone from here, purged by rain and time, but I could almost feel it on my palms like I had in my dreams. My light had first flared when I had thought we would die together. I knew it had shone again, strong enough to break the Fold in two, when he had died and left me behind.

When the nightmare came for me, the one that was a memory, I closed my eyes and let it play out.

I saw it more clearly than I ever had. The bloody knife in the sand beside him, red on silver. His life leaving him in gouts of blood. My hands bunched in his shirt, trying to keep it all inside of him.

“Please,” I whispered, and it was just for him although we both knew it was too late. Then I cried out. “Please. Someone help! Help him!”

No help came. The darkness was absolute, yet the sounds of battle clamored around us. Someone else screamed, but it was very distant, like the world had narrowed to me and Mal in the middle of the maelstrom, the eye of the storm.

I whispered, “Help me.”

Mal rested his hand on mine, familiar, callused, not warm enough. “It’s all right, Alina.”

“No,” I sobbed. “No, you have to live.”

“It’s all right,” he said. Then the wet cough, the rattle in his chest, him taking my hand with the last of his strength. “But you have to promise me.”

 _There is no end to our story_.

“Anything,” I told him. “Anything.”

“Promise—” He coughed again.

I wanted to calm him. I pushed his hair back from his face. My hand left a bloody streak on his paling skin. “I promise. Whatever it is, I promise.”

“No,” he said, his voice surprisingly firm. “Listen to me. You’re going to live a long time, and— don’t be like him. Don’t forget—” His cough went on for longer this time. Blood flecked on his lips. “Don’t forget,” he managed, “to be human.”

“I won’t,” I vowed unsteadily, still weeping. Mal nodded and tried to smile, then he gave an awful wheeze, and his grip on my hand went slack. I cupped his cheek. “Mal?”

I kissed him. Warmth lingered in his lips, the only trace of him left. The rest was gone.

I put my head down on his shoulder as a scream wrenched out of me. As I had on the sandskiff, I curled up against his chest. As it had on the sandskiff, the world vanished in a bright light.

Grief could be white.

* * *

I was surprised the Darkling left me alone as long as he did, kneeling in the sand, feeling for the first time the weight of eternity, the long, empty life I faced without the man I loved. I think a part of me refused to accept that Mal was truly dead, that he would never sling an arm around my shoulder again, tease me again, kiss me again, charm me. We had had so little time, and now I faced so much without him.

When the Darkling crouched down beside me and put a hand on my shoulder, I almost threw up my hands, ready to fight. But all he did was take hold of my arm and help me stand. The wind whipped my hair. It plastered to my tearstained face.

“I’ve decided I don’t believe you,” I announced.

“I’m shocked.”

“I would never kill him. I could never.” I looked forlornly at the sands. “But he died here. I know that.”

“Walk with me,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. He turned and began walking back to the semicircle of _oprichniki_ that had fanned out on the Kribirsk side of the Crossing. After a moment, after another long look, I followed him.

The _oprichniki_ and Grisha guards walked ahead of and behind us on streets that had been barricaded in advance of our visit. A planned route. I knew that, but it was hard to keep my focus on anything. I thought only of the weight of Mal’s body in my arms.

“I don’t know what happened to your _otkazat’sya_ ,” he said. “By the time I reached you he had already stopped breathing. You told me you killed him when I tried to pull you away.”

I shook my head once, then again.

“Alina, if I had killed him, you would know. I have no reason to hide it.”

“I would never like you,” I said, stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my _kefta_. “I would never want you.”

“That never stopped me before.”

That was true enough. He hadn’t thought twice about ordering Mal thrown to the volcra. This great and terrible man, my husband of a century, who breathed cruelty and justified it as the only way to survive. He might be right. Mal was noble, and Mal was dead.

Before I knew it, we had paced our way to the town’s church. I had kept my eyes down on the streets, sometimes tar roads or concrete sidewalks, sometimes charming cobblestones, but even I looked up at the church. I remembered it sticking out at the time, whitewashed, golden domes gleaming, but it was even more incongruous now. It had been expanded, and the land around it was fenced off — green grass, almost a park, nearly in the middle of town.

A priest stood in the doorway, clad in white robes. He had a friendly face — lines at the corners of his eyes marked him as a man who smiled often — and although he did not seem old there were grey streaks in his neat beard and at his temples. I got the distinct sense that he was waiting for us. For me.

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” the priest said by way of greeting, bowing to me. “Have you come to visit?”

“Visit?” I glanced at the Darkling in confusion, but he pretended not to hear.

The priest’s brows drew closer together. “It has been some time,” he said, mildly, “since you visited your friend here.”

A dull stab of realization pierced my chest as I remembered the park I had glimpsed behind the church. Not a park. A graveyard.

Of course I had a friend here. The only question was which one.

That, I thought I knew.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I would like to spend some time with him, if I can.”

The priest nodded, like he had been expecting to hear that. “Please wait here, _moi soverenyi_ ,” he said to the Darkling, with a slight incline of his head that could pass for deference even though we all knew better. “You are not permitted inside.”

I wondered on whose authority the priest was allowed to banish the Darkling, but to my surprise, he just shrugged. “Feel free to bar me from the last place I would want to be. Alina…” With a glance, he cautioned, “My patience is not infinite.”

“Believe me, I know,” I said. I stepped past the priest and into the church.

Immediately I was taken aback by how _bright_ it seemed in there. The church was pristine, and the meager autumn light that passed through the high glass windows seemed to reflect off of the white walls, the golden trim, the handsome wooden pews. Behind the altar was a beautiful stained glass rendering of a sunburst against a blue sky. The ceilings were tall and the air felt clean in a way that made the perpetual knot of tension in my chest unwind even though I’d never been particularly religious.

There were no icons, no paintings, but from the way this place exuded warmth and amplified light I knew which saint this church was dedicated to, and I felt a little cowed. Maybe it was rude to have those things on hand when the object of worship was still breathing.

“What’s your name, Father?” I asked the priest, who stayed at my side as we walked up the aisle between the pews, polished to gleaming. The scattered worshippers gave me one look and then returned to their praying with renewed vigor. I didn’t know what was expected of me here. Would it be an act of humility or narcissism to pray at my own church? I could really use the help.

He bowed his head again, but deeper this time. Reverential. “My name is Alexei, Sankta. I am honored that you have chosen to grace our humble church once more.”

 _I knew an Alexei_ , I thought. _He was kind and talented and a friend to me._ There were only so many names, of course. Some were bound to repeat, and this one was common enough. Still, I couldn’t help but wish the priest to be a relation of some kind. Maybe the descendant of a cousin.

“It’s lovely,” I said. “I first saw it when it was much smaller, and I’m surprised to see how it’s grown. I’m surprised—” I paused. “I didn’t realize how much faith people had.”

“Faith,” said Father Alexei, “is the flame that illuminates the long night, just as you are the light that spares this world from eternal darkness.”

“But I lost the war,” I blurted. It almost felt confessional. “I couldn’t save Ravka. I couldn’t protect—” _I lost Mal_. Although I knew it wasn’t, that felt like the worst failing of all, the capstone of my grief and shame.

Father Alexei nodded grimly. “There are some who doubt. But there are more who believe. And among the believers, you have more friends than you know.”

He held out his arm, then pushed up the sleeve of his robes to show me the sunburst in the stained glass was also wrought in ink on his forearm. His eyes searched my face for some sign that I understood him.

Slowly, I said, “I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know what that means.”

The priest frowned. “We had heard whisperings that you were not well. How much do you remember?”

“Very little,” I admitted. “I don’t even know why they call me a saint.”

“Ah. As you’re not dead?” I nodded. Father Alexei stroked his beard. “Many claim you died and were reborn. Those who adhere to that theory tend to disagree on when the rebirth happened, although generally you’re thought to have died on the Fold. Others of us take your unnaturally long life as a miracle in itself. The last time we saw each other my beard wasn’t grey, and yet you haven’t aged a day.” He beamed at me in a way that was somehow both worshipful and almost paternal.

“And the tattoo?”

“The Soldat Sol,” he said, lowering his voice. “Your sacred army. The Darkling has tried many times to root us out, but he has not succeeded. We wait for the day when you will call upon us again.”

I goggled at him, which was probably rude. “Like an insurrection?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He smiled again. “Until then, we provide aid to your friends and all else who need it.”

“And…” I looked to the back of the church, where the graveyard waited for me. “You tend their graves.”

The priest bowed his head again. “You have lost many friends,” he said. “Your gift, and your gift to us, is your curse. Such is the way of saints.” Then, “Would you like to see him?”

* * *

Nobody wants to linger in a graveyard, but this one was an exception. Walking on a path among grass and the occasional copse of fir trees, I felt far removed from otherwise grey Kribirsk, a transitional town perched on the edge of oblivion. I saw a couple of stone benches near the firs, and the headstones marking the graves were orderly and clean. Autumn’s chill had leached some vibrancy from the plants, and clouds still hung heavy in the sky above, but in spring this would be a beautiful, peaceful place. I could imagine myself bringing flowers here, spending time here.

I realized suddenly that I hadn’t brought him anything but myself, and felt guilty. If Mal were here, he’d tease me for my thoughtlessness. But he might also tell me that I was enough.

It didn’t take long to find him. His resting place wasn’t glamorous, no marble mausoleum, no stone coffin. Just a headstone on a little circular patch of green on its own, removed from the other sleepers. There were apple trees here, too — two of them, one on either side of the stone, their branches now nearly bare. Whatever their significance was, it was lost to time.

The headstone simply said: _Malyen Oretsev, Soldier, Friend, Beloved._ Underneath that was a carving of my sunburst, and beneath that, a phrase in what looked like ancient Ravkan that I did not understand.

I drew a deep breath, blinked back the tears that threatened to fall again, and went to him.

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” I said with false cheer, sitting down next to the stone. “You used to joke about us dying nameless on the battlefield, and now look at you. Headstone and everything. You’ve really moved up in the world.”

There was no reply. Fair enough.

“I can’t believe you’re dead. You were just holding me a couple of months ago.” I looked down at my hands. “It feels like a couple of months ago to me. I know you’re not—even here, Mal, that there’s nothing left, but I don’t know how else to talk to you. You’re always dying in my dreams.”

It was hard to speak. My throat felt like it was going to close up, so I swallowed. I let my head rest against the stone. I remembered the warmth of his hands, his mouth, his blood. The knife in the sand.

“I just wanted to come and see for myself. I hope it didn’t hurt too much, when…” I trailed off, brushing at the dirt. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You’re not allowed to go without me.”

Part of me — almost all of me — wanted to apologize to him for what happened, but I knew he would brush me off. No sense being sorry. He had been the one to reassure _me_ as he was dying, after all. As if in affirmation of that thought, a breeze rustled the firs, the bare apple branches. I nodded and closed my eyes. No apologies.

I said instead, “I’m going to keep my promise. I hope— I hope I have been keeping it all these years, but in case I haven’t, I want you to know that I will now.”

Silence. A sound escaped me, something between a sigh and a sob, traveling up my chest and out through my mouth, making me shake. I was really here. And Mal was really gone.

“I love you,” I whispered, turning my cheek against the cold stone. “I hope you know that, wherever you are.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine.” He smiled coldly at me. “Surely you’ve noticed by now that the shadows come when you call?”
> 
> I thought of that night in the palace when I wished the shadows would swallow me up, and they did. I didn’t know which of us had taken from the other, chipping away little pieces. Maybe we both had. Maybe that was marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 graphic is [here](https://judeling.com/post/630702776763187200/whats-mine-is-yours-whats-yours-is-mine-he).

I lingered at Mal’s grave for as long as I could, telling him about my life, the strange and twisted road it had gone down. I guess if I’d visited him before — and I knew I had — and he was somewhere listening, the whole thing would be confusing, me forgetting my memories, the clean slate. Then again, if he could hear me, he could probably see everything, too. I didn’t worry too much. It was the thought that counted, the telling, the unburdening.

After a little while, I saw Father Alexei coming up the path and stood, brushing off my _kefta_. “Is my time up already?”

He bowed to me again and said, “Your husband has had his meeting with the city’s administrators and is now growing impatient.”

“And he asked you to come get me.”

“In his way.”

I imagined his way involved threats of what would happen if he didn’t get it, and shuddered. “Does it bother you, being bossed around like a servant?”

“We must all endure,” said the priest delicately, after a slight pause. “You more than anyone.”

“Don’t I know it,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Not very saintly of me. Father Alexei smiled, although he turned his head away so I wouldn’t see. In the brief moment of privacy, I touched Mal’s gravestone.

“I’ll come back,” I whispered. “I’ll come and see you again.”

Then I walked down the path with Father Alexei, away from the boy I had loved, back to the man who had married me.

The Darkling stood at the entrance of the church, hands behind his back again, with the straight-shouldered military bearing of a commander. His face rarely betrayed anything, but I had learned to look for the signs of his impatience. I saw them in the tight line of his mouth, the rigidity of his spine.

“Thank you, Father,” I said, turning to the priest.

“We are humbled by your presence,” he said, with another inclination of his head. “You are always welcome here.”

“Alina,” said the Darkling. It was hard to keep from rolling my eyes again as I went with him, but I had already been unsaintly once today. Maybe there was a quota.

“Why bring me here?” I asked as we continued our stroll through the town, away from the church and its golden domes.

“To the Fold?”

“ _Here_ , to— I didn’t think you’d want me visiting him.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Do you remember anything else?”

Something in me fractured when he said that. I hadn’t been expecting that answer, and I was already raw from the memory, from visiting Mal. I couldn’t take anyone else’s pain right now, much less his.

“A little,” I admitted. “But very little. Just part of the battle.”

He gave a short nod but said nothing else.

“I’m surprised he was buried anywhere.” I chanced a glance at him; he was facing ahead, eyes front. “I didn’t think rebel deserters were honored like that.”

The Darkling shrugged. “It was one of your terms when you surrendered.”

The casual way he said it, like it was nothing, chilled me. I stopped in my tracks. “Is it really him in there?”

“Yes.” He turned his head, and sighed when he saw that I was no longer beside him. “ _Yes_ , Alina. In this I kept my word. I often do,” he added. “You and I just disagree on the spirit of the thing.”

I shivered, remembering his definition of mercy. Of course, there was no way to verify his claim that he had buried Mal and not some double, not after a century, but I liked to think that that other me would have made sure of it. Even if she truly was catatonic with grief, I think she would have been there, that this is the one thing she would have seen through.

“Thank you.” I stuffed my hands as far down into the pockets of my coat as they would go. “For not getting out of it somehow.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded again and continued walking. I couldn’t imagine he enjoyed allowing me to bury Mal, and he certainly didn’t enjoy me visiting him now, but he seemed to be going along with it much more readily than I thought he would.

Then again, he had won. A dead boy was no threat.

We came upon something like a town square. A pitch black obelisk rose in the middle, like the Fold made matter. I caught the faint stutter in the steady rhythm of the Darkling’s steps, then he turned and told one of the _oprichniki_ to have the cars brought around. Apparently we were leaving.

Was it the obelisk that had thrown him? Pulling away from his side, I walked across the square to have a look at it. I had thought it was solid black, but as I grew closer I saw that names had been etched in the stone, hundreds of names, wrapping around and around the sculpture like a length of rope. I ran my fingers over one. _Andrei Bazin_. These were names of the dead. People weren’t commemorated like this while they were alive.

The toe of my boot brushed something soft, and I looked down. Someone had recently left flowers, the edges of their petals only beginning to brown. “What is this?” I murmured. Tears came up in my eyes, but I blinked them back.

I wasn’t expecting an answer, but the Darkling had come up beside me, silent as a shadow. “This is a memorial to those who died when the Shadow Fold engulfed Novokribirsk.”

“Those who died.” I rounded on him, my eyes burning. The crack was expanding, ready to shatter the rest of me. “You killed them,” I said. My voice was low and nearly unrecognizable to me. “ _We_ killed them! You _made_ me—”

“Alina,” he said, like I was being irrational.

“You can’t lie to me. I was there, I was _just_ there!”

“Sacrifices had to be made.”

“Innocent people. Your own people! Men, women, children. All sacrificed—”

“For the greater good, yes. To send a message to the world.” He held out his arms, palms open, fingers spread, at the solid grey buildings of Kribirsk, the neatly paved roads. “And is it not better now? You’ve had a chance to see for yourself. Are we not better off now than we were then?”

“I don’t know. But they will _never_ know. They never got to see your glorious new world. They weren’t given a warning, a choice.” I turned back and looked up at the memorial. “Is this how history remembers them? Necessary losses for the greater good?”

“Because that’s what they were,” the Darkling said, an edge to his voice. He clearly thought we were tarrying here too long. “Because history is made by those who write it. Surely I don’t need to explain this to you.”

I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my _kefta_ , frustrated. I would not cry in front of him. “It isn’t history to me.”

“It will fade. All will fade in time. This is a promise that I can make you. I’ve lived it.” He sighed. “In your mind, you’re still fighting a war that was won decades ago, and not by you.”

“You’re right,” I said angrily. “It never ended for me. Maybe it never will.”

The cars rolled into the square then, with the low, alien humming from their engines. His eyes were hard and grey, twin blades of steel cutting into me. “Leave it, Alina. Let’s go.”

I crossed my arms. “What if I don’t want to go with you?”

“So close to the Fold,” he said, in his cool voice, “and you dare to ask me what will happen if you disobey.”

I looked past him at the darkness of the Fold stretching into the clouds above and as far as the eye could see in both directions, broken only by the channel I’d made a century ago. When Mal died. When I experienced a sorrow so great it remained engraved in my mind after nearly everything else was burned away.

“I won’t call the light for you,” I said. “Take me in there and we’ll both be food for the volcra.”

“I already told you I have a way to enter without you. It only takes a spark.”

He held up one hand, removed his glove, then snapped his fingers. A light flared, a bright sunspark against the colorless stone buildings, the grey sky, then died away. My heart froze in my chest.

“ _No_ ,” I breathed.

“What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine.” He smiled coldly at me. “Surely you’ve noticed by now that the shadows come when you call?”

I thought of that night in the palace when I wished the shadows would swallow me up, and they did. And now this. I didn’t know which of us had taken from the other, chipping away little pieces. Maybe we both had. Maybe that was marriage.

“You have given me so many gifts, Alina, and I have repaid you in kind. Now.” He pulled his glove back on. “Get in the car.”

I was on the verge of breaking. I wanted to grab him, run down the streets of Kribirsk, push him into the Fold. But he’d survived it before. He’d survived too much to die easily. There was nowhere for my anger, my fathomless grief, to go.

I got in the car.

* * *

The car was dead silent on our way out of Kribirsk. Instead of turning toward the train station, as I thought we would, we pulled onto a wide road. I realized with a jolt that this was what the Vy had become, a paved, unrecognizable thing with cars going up and down it in both directions. Our car, its roof now pulled up to shield us from the coming deluge promised by the ever-darkening clouds, was escorted by the black sedans, two in the front, two in the back, in a neat line like the modern bastardization of a Suli caravan. I wondered idly if the Suli and their caravans were still around.

I sat as far away from the Darkling as I could on the car’s back bench, pressed against the right side door. The _oprichnik_ who had ridden with us in the procession was in another car, so there was only us and the driver. The Darkling sat against the opposite window, face turned toward it, chin on his hand, seemingly lost in thought. Those fine, near-invisible scars were easier to see in the light from outside.

My thoughts turned inward, a dark whirlpool of imagery: Mal’s grave, the Crossing, the obelisk. My bloody hand between Mal’s as he used his dying breaths to comfort me. I was drowning in it. _Don’t forget to be human_.

“I don’t enjoy being cruel to you,” the Darkling said quietly, after over an hour of silence. We had just crossed the Sokol River, wheels bumping over the bridge, and he was still looking out the window. “I would rather not.”

I glared at him. “Then don’t.”

“If only it were that easy.” He looked at me then, and he seemed so tired. A thousand years of weariness on a young man’s face. “I give you leeway, but you can’t be seen to defy me outright in public. We are a united front, Alina. _We_ are Ravka.”

“When has Ravka ever been united in anything?” I asked rhetorically.

He smiled. I thought I saw genuine fondness in his face, but maybe I was just seeing what I wanted. Some sign of humanity. The tyrant who, at the very least, found me amusing.

Then I asked, not rhetorically, “Would you have done it? Turned the Fold on Kribirsk just because I disagreed with you?”

The Darkling didn’t answer right away, which was honestly answer enough. But he said, “Probably not. I could have threatened to have the _oprichniki_ shoot a few civilians and it would have worked just as well. You have a soft heart.”

A scream of frustration was strangled in my throat. “I guess you can’t relate.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Some mistakes I will not make again.”

I would not allow myself to be shaken by the implication that he did have one once, nor ask the follow-up questions he so clearly wanted me to ask. “My defiance would have undermined you more than shooting innocent people?”

He shrugged. “People are shot all the time. Or I could have used the _nichevo’ya_ and reminded them of why they fear me. But you know the power of the Fold. It was the most expedient threat.”

“The most expedient threat,” I echoed. I turned back to the window. We had turned onto a smaller road, presumably for discretion. I looked at the forest of birch trees, knobby and white, like long finger bones sticking out of the earth, reaching for a sky they’d never touch.

“You have a way of bringing these things out of me,” he said. “I try to be reasonable, but all you try is my patience.”

“I’m not responsible for the things you do.” It sounded firm. I wish I believed it quite that strongly.

He let out a plaintive sigh. “As I said before, I am not your enemy.”

“You don’t seem to like it much when I disagree with you.”

“We’re disagreeing right now,” he said softly. It was too easy to get lost in the susurrus of his voice. “Aren’t we?”

There was nothing that I could say to that. I lapsed back into my brooding, replaying everything in my mind. My mouth on Mal’s still lips. Cool sand slipping through my fingers— his blood gushing through my fingers. The black obelisk against the grey sky. The break in the shifting dark curtain of the Fold. _The most expedient threat_. The words on Mal’s gravestone. _Beloved_. Past tense.

This was all that was left, I realized. I would never be free.

In the end, it was nothing he did that shattered me. In a quiet moment, left to my thoughts, I broke all on my own.

“We have to stop,” I said, a high waver. “I have to relieve myself.”

Without argument, The Darkling signalled to the driver. We pulled over to the side of the road. The cars carrying our escort pulled over as well. Without waiting for the driver, I flung open the door and sprinted into the birch trees.

I heard the Darkling call after me. The slender trees didn’t offer the best cover, but I tried to weave between them as best I could so the Corporalki couldn’t keep me in their lines of sight and slow me down. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to run.

After a while, I realized the ragged breaths and crunching of leaves under boots I heard were mine alone, that I wasn’t being followed. I slowed down to conserve my strength, but kept a quick pace all the same. I didn’t want to be caught anytime soon. What I wanted was space. Well, what I really wanted was to go back in time and change the past, but I doubted I would be that lucky. Space would have to do.

Just after I’d slowed to a breathless walk, I came across a little clearing among the trees. I stepped into it, fell to my knees, and, finally alone, I screamed as I’d wanted to since I first woke up in that unfamiliar bed.

The air filled with the flapping of wings as birds took off from nearby trees, startled by the sound of my voice, the wailing that broke apart into quiet sobs. Then there was only silence.

I knelt there, my head in my hands. The wind picked up threateningly, and I smelled lightning carried on its back. It would rain soon, the clouds fit to burst right over my head in another cold autumn storm. I thought I heard the faraway drum roll of thunder. Saints, it had been stupid to leave the shelter of the car. I doubted I would find a friendly witch willing to take in a girl — a girl of one hundred and sixteen years — fleeing monsters in this forest. That was the stuff of fables.

Then again, so was I.

I pulled myself to my feet, hugging my arms close to my chest. When I turned, I saw the Darkling standing at the edge of the clearing, leaning against one of the trees, watching me. I put up my hands as if to call light, to fight, but he did not move.

“I forget how raw it must all be for you,” he said. “How new.”

“That’s a weird way to say ‘I’m sorry,’” I retorted.

“That’s not—” He frowned. “That’s not what I—”

“Is that how to kill you? Make you apologize?”

“I am only trying to say that—” His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he quickly had his hands up too. I should have known then to be afraid. “Come into the trees. Quickly.”

“What is it?” I asked. My eyes also narrowed. I assumed it was some kind of trick, some ploy to lure me back. I didn’t move.

“Come— _Alina_!”

With a creeping sense of true dread, I turned to look behind me. But that was not where the threat lay. As the winds picked up and the promised storm opened above our heads, something seized me in great claws and pulled me into the sky.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop struggling if you don’t want to be dropped on your head,” the dragon snapped with an irritated snort. It had a woman’s voice, oddly familiar.
> 
> There was a rolling boom of thunder. Once it faded, I squeaked, “You can _talk_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 13 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/630882922416783360/stop-struggling-if-you-dont-want-to-be-dropped).

I didn’t know what had taken me, just that one second I was on the ground and the next my feet touched nothing and the forest was growing rapidly smaller beneath me. I kicked, squirmed, and the claws dug in deeper, rending the wool of my _kefta_ and cutting into my back with bright stabs of pain.

“Let me go!” I yelled, my voice already hoarse from screaming. I couldn’t get my arms up to use the Cut, but up here that would have been fatal to both of us. I called light to my hands anyway so that I could be seen from the ground through the raging storm. There were Squallers in our retinue. If I fell or this thing dropped me they might be able to catch me on the air.

I tried to get a look at the creature, but it was hard with the rain plastering my hair to my face, the wind whipping so furiously that my hat blew off my head. At first I thought it might be an oversized eagle, hence the claws. Then I caught a glimpse of a sleek underbelly armored in iridescent scales, black one moment, then illuminated green, gold in a flash of lightning that was too close for comfort.

“Impossible,” I said to myself. _Improbable_ , chimed a voice in my head. _No one had ever seen a Sun Summoner before you came along, either_.

But that didn’t mean dragons were real, too.

I squirmed again, thrashed, kicked, hoping the dragon would get the message. “Put me down!”

“Stop struggling if you don’t want to be dropped on your head,” the dragon snapped with an irritated snort. It had a woman’s voice, oddly familiar.

I stopped moving out of shock. There was a rolling boom of thunder. Once it faded, I squeaked, “You can _talk_?”

At that moment, a black blur shot by me and went straight for the dragon’s face. She veered up and shot a spurt of flame from her mouth to try to deter whatever it was that had attacked her. I thought she had cleared it, but then another blur went for her left wing, and she let out a furious roar, twisting this way and that in the air to try to get the creature off. The claws loosened.

“No,” I said, trying to reach up for one of her rain-slick talons. “No no no—”

Then I was free, and I was falling, tumbling through the air, my screams swallowed up by the howling of the wind.

I barely had time to realize what was happening — that this, of all the ways, would be how I died — before something caught hold of one of my arms, nearly wrenching it from its socket. Something else seized my other arm. Not the dragon. I couldn’t make sense of which way was up, since I had turned over and over again and the sky and ground looked equally grey from here, but I saw her briefly, fighting off what seemed to be two beings made entirely of shadow.

When I looked at my arms, I saw that I was being tightly gripped by two shadow claws on each side. Then I looked at the things holding me and almost screamed again. They were shifting, shadowy silhouettes of men, featureless, with black wings pouring from their backs like smoke. They were less like volcra and more like my monster friend in the cellar, but even that had a human face, human features. These were blank slates, created only to serve.

The _nichevo’ya_ , the nothings. The Darkling’s creations I had read about, born of _merzost_. I felt the wrongness roiling from them like oil coating my skin. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t exist. I wanted to wrench away from them, but doing so meant almost certain death. I tamped down on my revulsion and let them carry me to the ground.

They left me on the road near where the cars had stopped and flew off to join the battle. Our makeshift caravan was in organized chaos. The Squallers stood on the tops of the cars, hands outstretched, trying to take some control of the storm. The _oprichniki_ were running back and forth, setting up contraptions on the ground that looked like cannons, hidden behind the hoods of the cars. The Corporalki stood at the rear, waiting, expectant.

“ _Moi soverenyi_.” An _oprichnik_ hastened to my side. “You’re hurt.”

I was dimly aware of the warmth of blood soaking my _kefta_ from the gouge marks the dragon had made, although it was hard to feel when I was already drenched from the rain. “I’m fine,” I said, waving away his concern and looking up at the sky. The dragon had flown further out from the cars in an attempt to shake the _nichevo’ya_ off. Her fire only slowed them down. It didn’t destroy them.

She was outnumbered, but nature seemed to be on her side. One of the _nichevo’ya_ , flung backward by her beating wings, was obliterated by a sudden bolt of lightning. Those of us on the ground shielded our eyes.

“What _is_ that?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard above the storm.

“That,” said a cool voice from behind me, “is our quarry.”

The _oprichnik_ and I turned to look. Two _nichevo’ya_ had borne the Darkling over the barren forest canopy and, as with me, were lowering him to the road. As soon as he was down, the awful creatures went to join the fray and he stalked toward us, looking every inch the predator. “Report?”

The _oprichnik_ snapped to a salute. “The nets are ready, _moi soverenyi_ , but in this wind—”

Nets. Those cannons shot nets. The Darkling was trying to capture this creature, I realized dumbly. He had prepared for this. He had planned this.

“Never mind the wind. The Squallers will make sure the nets find their target.” He stared up at the dragon with grim triumph in his eyes that I recognized from when he’d discovered me and Mal with Morozova’s stag. But when he saw the rends in my _kefta_ it vanished, replaced by something like real concern. “Alina, you’re hurt.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly, my voice much steadier than I felt. I looked back at the dragon, who was flying back from where we stood but didn’t seem to be retreating. “This is what we’re here for?”

The Darkling ran a hand through his wet hair. “This beast has been menacing the farms for weeks. You heard it yourself.”

I had heard it myself. In the fray, in my shock, I’d forgotten the farmer with his report on the dragon, that gleam in the Darkling’s eye, how he’d thrown himself into the work of tracking it down. This was the real reason we’d come to this part of Ravka, and why we hadn’t taken the train back.

I protested, “She’s not a thoughtless beast, she can speak—”

“ _And_?” It was almost a snarl. I was taken aback by the ferocity of it. “She wounded you. Do you think she wants to have you for a friendly conversation over tea?”

No, I didn’t think so. The wounds in my back were still sluggishly bleeding. I also knew that if the Darkling wanted to get his hands on the dragon this badly, it wasn’t for anything good.

But I said, “Let me help.”

“You’ve done all you can. Stay behind me.”

“But—”

“ _Moi soverenyi_!” called an oprichnik. “It’s out of range!”

I looked up. The dragon was circling what seemed like miles overhead, a darker shape against dark skies. The _nichevo’ya_ clustered close to her, futilely beating their wings, unable to advance. They must need to stay close to their master.

“I’ll recall them,” the Darkling said, holding out his hands. He sounded as calm as ever. He sounded like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. “Be ready. On my command.”

The _nichevo’ya_ began soaring back to him. They seemed to defy the wind, coasting as if on a straight line. The dragon began circling more widely, ranging closer now that there was nothing in her way. Lightning flickered behind her like a bright forked tongue, followed almost immediately by a harsh crack of thunder. _Come on_ , I thought. _You have to realize this is a trap._

The Darkling took one step forward, and then another. He was challenging her to come for him.

I inhaled. For a moment the storm seemed to hold its breath, too. The wind died. The rain slowed. All around me there was near-silence, just the soft pattering of droplets on the tar of the road.

Then another bolt of lightning struck one of the birch trees nearby, splitting it in two. The wind resumed its frenzied gusting. The dragon pulled in her wings and dove for him.

He did not signal the _oprichniki_ right away, but stood his ground as she grew nearer, a black bolt with all of the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cubs. For some reason — and there were many possible reasons — the dragon hated him so much that she either didn’t realize she was outmatched or didn’t care. She opened her maw, preparing to let out another jet of flame. In the mere moments I had to think before she was within range of the nets, I came up with a sloppy plan.

“Now,” the Darkling yelled, sending a skein of darkness snaking toward the dragon, just as I shrieked, a panicked girlish shriek, and threw up my arms.

The darkness that was meant to blind the dragon bounced harmlessly off of a great wall of light that sprang up between us and her. Only one of the _oprichniki_ fired off a net, and it went wide. Almost everyone else was staring at me.

Including the dragon. She flapped her wings a few times, pushing herself up so that her reptilian head was visible over the blinding barrier. There was a keen intelligence in her eyes. She was smart enough to understand what I was doing. She had to be.

 _Go away_ , I thought desperately. _Please_.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dragon gave another snort, then turned and flew off northward, vanishing into the clouds and taking the storm with her. The rain ceased, and the clouds parted above us. I let my hands drop, and the wall of light vanished. The blood loss and the brief, intense battle had left me shaking badly.

“No!” The Darkling shouted. He rounded on me. “You—”

He stopped himself. For a moment I didn’t understand why. Then I saw that all around us, the _oprichniki_ and the Grisha had sunk to their knees facing me, heads bowed. I looked down at myself, and realized that while the clouds had parted, it was only for me. I had just driven off a dragon on my own, and now I was standing in a solitary sunbeam.

The Darkling regarded me steadily. He didn’t shield his gaze. So many emotions danced in it: anger, annoyance, the same concern from before, and what I thought might be resentment. I looked at all the people bowing, bemused, and I understood.

They feared him, they obeyed him, but they loved me. A power I had that he did not.

“That’s enough,” he said, smoothing out the harsh edges of his voice. “We need to leave this place, now.” He walked back over to me and touched my cheek. His hand was warm, I thought, and then realized that maybe I was very cold.

His brow furrowed. “She needs medical attention,” he said to one of the Corporalki. “Ride with us.”

“I’m fine,” I protested again, but the adrenaline was wearing off and my trembling worsened. When he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around me, I slumped against him, a telltale sign that I wasn’t fine at all.

* * *

I had spent the ride out of Kribirsk trying to sit as far away from the Darkling as possible, so it was ironic that I now found myself curled up against his side as the Corporalnik tended to the wounds on my back. There was only so much room in the car.

The gouges were deeper than I realized. Not life-threatening, the Healer assured me — reassured my husband, more like — as she healed me. I had been lucky that the dragon hadn’t crushed my shoulder blades, though. My sopping _kefta_ lay in an ungraceful heap on the floor of the car, and the Healer had pushed the back of my ripped shirt up to my neck to access the wounds. The healing burned worse than it had the first time, after the Darkling cut my arm, and took longer. I fought to stay still as her hands skimmed over my skin.

Being tucked against the Darkling helped. Even though I was furious with him, I was grateful for the contact. My mind was belatedly coming to terms with how I’d almost plummeted to a horrible screaming death, and it was nice to be grounded by touch. His fingers idly carded through my wet hair, which soothed me. And of course there was the sense of calm and certainty that descended like a fine warm mist whenever my skin met his.

This was also the surest way for me to tell what he really felt. When we touched, he couldn’t hide it. The swift current of his anger intermingled with mine, but I also felt genuine relief that I was safe, lingering jealousy, and a deep yearning that blanketed everything like a layer of winter snow.

And under that, I realized with shock, were the embers of desire he was trying hard to smother, brought about by my closeness. He’d kissed me before, yes, used my lust and loneliness to seduce me, but I was always surprised to remember that part of him actually wanted me like husbands were supposed to want their wives. That it wasn’t about power— well, that it wasn’t all about power.

“I’m very angry at you,” I said to him, to distract myself from that unsettling thought. It was true, although fatigue had mostly taken over. I had seen so much today and I was so tired.

The rhythm of his hand in my hair did not change. “That makes two of us. What were you thinking, running off on your own?”

“I don’t know.” I tilted my face up toward his. “What were _you_ thinking using me as bait?”

His eyes hardened. “Is she healed?” he asked the Corporalnik. His voice didn’t betray him. I needed to learn how to do that.

“Yes, _moi soverenyi_. She’s lost blood, but there are no scars.”

“Good. Leave us. There is something I need to discuss with my wife.”

I looked at the Corporalnik, who just nodded assent, although her cheeks pinked. Saints, I could only imagine what kind of discussion she thought we were going to have. Battles were supposed to heat the blood, but I’d only ever felt nauseous after.

We stopped to let her out on the side of the road, where one of the sedans picked her up. I should have moved away from the Darkling then, but I didn’t. I stayed tucked against his side. He pulled down the back of my shirt, but his hand slipped under it, coming to rest flat against my lower back. He leaned forward and, with his other hand, raised a partition between the back of the car and where the driver sat. Effectively, we were alone.

“You weren’t supposed to be injured,” he said quietly. “You were supposed to be safe under the cover of the trees. We were supposed to run back to the cars together.”

This was a surreal conversation to be having with my head tucked under his chin. “Is that why you brought me to Kribirsk? Why you made me so upset? So I’d leave the car when you needed me to?”

“You should know by now that I have many reasons for doing what I do. I wanted to see if visiting the Fold would restore your memories. I wanted you to confront the truth of your lover’s death.” I bristled at him calling Mal my _lover_ , but he either didn’t notice or care. “And, yes, I wanted you to lure the dragon.”

An answer that only brought out more questions. “Why did you think the dragon would come for me?”

“She’s an anomaly,” he said. “You are too. _Like calls to like_. We’re drawn to each other. It’s how you crossed my path in the first place.”

“She hated you.” I thumbed at the collar of his _kefta_.

“Many do. We can’t all be beloved daughters of the people.”

I ignored the jibe. “What did you do to her?”

“What makes you think I did anything at all?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

He gave me one of his half-smiles and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was so soft, so fleeting, that I thought for a moment I imagined it. Dangerous heat spiked in me, drowned out almost immediately by shame. I had just visited Mal’s resting place this morning. I had no right to entertain those thoughts, however much comfort I might find in being held.

“If you were always planning to use me as bait, you should have told me,” I said, to deflect. “You keep talking about our marriage like it means something, but you clearly don’t trust me. If I’m going to be your partner in power, you have to give me a little more.”

“Now you’re interested in a partnership?” He spoke casually, but I could hear the guardedness belying the words. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I _am_ angry with you,” I said. “But I think we can get further by working together than trying to sabotage each other.”

I thought of all of those people kneeling to me by the side of the road. I saw the shape of things more clearly than I ever had. We balanced the scales. His eye was to external threats, but I saw that Os Alta was protected. He had cast his humanity aside long ago, and I refused to give mine up. I was the carrot and he was the stick. Fear of him kept Ravka safe, and I kept Ravka safe from him.

_We all must endure. You more than anyone._

Or maybe this didn’t make any sense. Maybe I was just tired of swimming upstream and wanted to see what would happen if I let the current carry me. Maybe I wanted to pick battles I could actually win.

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said. “You’re so stubborn…” A laugh escaped him, and he seemed surprised by it. He shook his head. “You had to nearly die again to see it. I should have known.”

“A partnership doesn’t mean my blind obedience,” I pressed. “I’m sure you wish it did. But for people to have any kind of relationship, they need to talk.”

The Darkling shifted against me. “When you’re as old as I am, trust doesn’t come easy.” He paused. “And frankly, I am astounded at your audacity in asking this after you thwarted my plans.”

“I got scared,” I lied. “I panicked. It happens. If I’d _known_ your plans—”

“I’m not stupid, Alina.”

“If I’d known your plans,” I repeated, “then maybe I wouldn’t have to assume your intentions are always evil.”

“Your first mistake is thinking in black and white,” he said, kind of patronizingly.

I sighed. Did everyone feel like they were married to the most frustrating person in the world? “But that’s what we are, aren’t we? Shadows and sun. Dark and light. It’s really on the nose.”

The tension broke. He relaxed against me and laughed again, a soft, dark sound. What did it remind me of? Black bear fur lining a _kefta_. Great oak trees. A winter’s night.

“ _Moya solnishka_ ,” The Darkling murmured. He had called me that before. _My little sun_. “You burn so brightly and infuriate me so much.” One of his hands still rested under my shirt, and the other came up to caress my cheek.

My heart gave a giddy, panicked lurch in my chest when he ducked his face close to mine, and my eyes flicked to his mouth. I didn’t know why my body couldn’t calm down. It wasn’t like I hadn’t kissed him before. At least it was better than this morning, when there had been more breathless panic than curiosity. What had shifted? Maybe I was finally coming into my own.

Still, there would be no return from kissing him again. I couldn’t explain how I knew that. I just did. I tried to make myself think of Mal, but it was hard when there was a living man warm against me, all lean muscle and bad intent.

“You’re seducing me,” I said. Naming the thing should take away the fear of it, in theory. “And I’m still angry with you. That’s not very kind.”

“It’s best after a battle. Even better when we’re both smoldering,” he murmured. I could see in his eyes that he meant to strip me bare on the back bench of this car and, oh, Saints, I was not ready. Not for this. There was the panic again, sparked with arousal. He would hit me like a hurricane.

His voice dropped even lower when his hand slid into my hair. “Haven’t you already learned that I’m not a kind man?”

I opened my mouth to reply — or to receive his kiss. I would never know which. The car jounced hard as we turned onto a poorly-paved drive, knocking us apart, and then began to slow. We were stopping for the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need much in the way of comfort.” He gave me a pointed grey look. “Do you?”
> 
> I shook off the feeling of his hands on my skin, my head against his shoulder. Being held. Being soothed. “No,” I said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 14 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/631153666220507136/i-dont-need-much-in-the-way-of-comfort-he-gave).

We had pulled off the main road into the tiny town of Polvost. It hadn’t been much to look at in my time, and it wasn’t much to look at now, but travelers must still stop there overnight because it had an inn that could house our small company. When the driver came around to open my door, I was surprised to find myself looking up at a night sky dotted with stars, peeking out between tufts of puffy cloud. Darkness had fallen early. We were standing right on the cusp of the long Ravkan winter.

The inn had a couple of stories and what seemed to be the town’s only restaurant on the first floor. There wasn’t much else of note. A market. A post office— that was new. The usual small shops that kept communities running. I was used to these main squares being dotted with farmers’ stalls, but maybe they had all packed up for the night. As in Kribirsk, the streets were paved and well-lit, the buildings fortified with concrete and brick. Glass in the windows. Hues of white and brown and grey.

The colorlessness made me think of my long, dreary, mud-splattered march through the countryside to the Shadow Fold, when I was in the army. There might be growth here, solidity, stability. But there was no spirit. Did color only belong to the Grisha now, and then only in carefully measured doses of red, purple and blue?

The Darkling stepped out of the car behind me, giving the town a dismissive glance. “We were originally meant to go further tonight, but I thought you should get some rest.” He sounded like he was cursing himself for that now, and I tried to put the near-miss out of my mind.

“You don’t have to coddle me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, a gesture that was startlingly human. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked even paler than usual. Summoning the _nichevo’ya_ clearly took a toll on him. “I need to regroup with my men,” he said. “Figure out a new strategy for tracking the dragon now that she knows she’s being hunted. Reassign units from—”

“We.”

He glanced at me.

“ _We_ need to regroup with the _oprichniki_ ,” I insisted.

“All you need to do is recover from your ordeal. Besides—” He took a step toward me, leaned in close to speak into my ear. To anyone else it might look like he was offering reassurance, something sweet after the long day we’d had. But his lips curved as he murmured, “You don’t have my trust yet.”

I huffed.

The Darkling cocked his head. “Do you really want any part in hunting her down, Alina? If it’s vengeance you seek for the injury, I’ll gladly hand you the whip once she’s caught.”

That thought was discordant, the wrong note played on a fiddle. I couldn’t see myself retaliating. The dragon had wounded me, yes, and I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I’d also recovered easily. I didn’t want to see such a creature in the Darkling’s clutches, thrashing against a net. She had been terrifying, but I was still awed by her power, the beautiful sleek impossibility of her, the way she had ridden the storm. She was something out of a folktale. Imagining her brought low and leashed made me feel cold.

Barely realizing what I was doing, I touched the collar forever fastened around my neck. “No,” I said quietly. “I don’t want that.”

He nodded, completely unsurprised. “Then rest. Bathe. I’ll have food sent to the room.”

I nodded at the inn. “Humble accommodations for the man who runs the country.”

“It was cleared prior to our arrival, so it’s secure. And I don’t need much in the way of comfort.” He gave me a pointed grey look. “Do you?”

I shook off the feeling of his hands on my skin, my head against his shoulder. Being held. Being soothed. “No,” I said flatly, and turned on my heels, stalking off toward the inn.

* * *

The manager was obliging, maybe too much so, as he led me to what he said was the inn’s largest room. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the other guards in between sentences, rubbing at his throat, likely fearing for his life. The room itself wasn’t much to look at, not compared to my suite at the palace, but there was a time not so long ago — technically, very long ago — that I would have found it the pinnacle of luxury. I made sure to thank him sincerely within the guards’ earshot, then went into the washroom and locked the door so I could run my own bath.

The hot water relieved the ache in my muscles, but nothing eased my confusion or put back together the shattered pieces of my heart. I thought of the cool grey stone that marked where Mal lay. _Beloved_. How could I have almost kissed the Darkling after all that I had seen? I had been wet and cold and lonely and in shock, and it was nice to be held. That was all. I could harden myself against those things.

But that was how the Darkling thought. _I don’t need much in the way of comfort_. I remembered Mal’s voice pleading for me not to forsake my humanity, and miserably slid deeper into the bathwater. I had to be strong, but I couldn’t be a stone. I would sink like the Darkling had.

When I left the bath, wrapped in one of the inn’s clean white towels, I saw that my trunks had been brought up from the car. As had the Darkling’s. They were stacked neatly by the dresser. I stared at them, unblinking. Of course we would be sharing the room. Why wouldn’t we? We were husband and wife, and the inn was otherwise filled to bursting with our men.

There was a dinner tray waiting for me, too. Simple but comforting food. Fragrant lamb stew. Potato casserole. A slice of plum cake— my favorite. I don’t know where he’d found it or how he knew. I guess after a century, it would be pretty sad if he _didn’t_ know.

I scarfed it all down. I was famished.

Once I had eaten, I changed back into the pajamas I had worn the previous night. My only other options were nightdresses, and I wanted as many layers of fabric between me and the Darkling as I could get. I brushed and braided my hair. Instead of getting into the bed, I donned my slippers, directed the light away from me, and slipped out the door, completely invisible.

Voices carried up the stairs. I was surprised at the Darkling for planning out in the open, but then remembered that the inn had been emptied of all other guests. I crept to the top of the stairs and sat down, peeking through the bars. Soldiers and Grisha sat at tables that had been pushed together, the Darkling at the head, lounging as comfortably in a simple wooden chair as if he were on his throne. There were empty plates on the table. He had broken bread with his men while I was sent away upstairs to be unreachable, aloof, apart.

“—and question the priest,” his cool voice said. “The timing of the dragon’s arrival was no coincidence. He has a way to communicate with her. Maybe he’s even harboring her.”

 _The priest_? Father Alexei giving a dragon shelter was too farfetched to consider — where would he keep her in the middle of Kribirsk? — but I had trouble imagining what else he might mean.

“ _Moi soverenyi_.” It was the Healer who had tended to me before. She looked nervous as she spoke, but said, “If we _make_ him talk, especially since he’s one of hers—”

“I have no desire to cause an insurrection. Not right now.” He sighed. He sounded exhausted. He sounded like a man who’d been running a country for a century. “With the Shu angling to take the Sikurzoi back and the Fjerdans inching closer to perfecting that damned bomb, there’s no time for domestic infighting. But maybe that’s not your concern. Don’t tell me you’ve found religion, Vera.”

The Healer paled. “ _Moi sover_ —”

He waved off her protests. “We’re aligned. I am trying to _protect_ Alina. She has no idea what those fools do while waving her banner around.” He gave Vera a small smile. Benevolent. Forgiving. “If what you saw today renewed your loyalty to her, you should want to keep blood from being shed in her name.”

The poor woman, given her reprieve, practically slumped in her chair from sheer relief. “Of course.”

Saints, he was good. I nearly uncloaked myself and announced that he had no idea what I wanted, except, of course, I didn’t want blood shed in my name, and he knew that. I bit my lip. I could learn more by staying hidden.

“If the priest is unwilling to talk, don’t touch him,” he said, speaking now to a different Corporalnik with a detachment that chilled my blood. “Make an example of the congregants. That should loosen his hold on them.” Then he looked at one of the _oprichniki_. “I want her guard trebled when we return to Os Alta. I don’t plan for either of us to leave the city until after the centennial, but the dragon will try to seek her out anyway. I’m certain of it.”

In the city? The city surrounded by walls and airships manned by Grisha? Either he truly was mad or I was missing some piece of this puzzle.

The _oprichnik_ nodded. “Yes, _moi soverenyi_.” After a pause, he said, “It may help to know what the dragon’s aim is where the _tsaritsa_ is concerned.”

I leaned forward. I was desperately curious about this too.

But the Darkling only said, “Nothing good.” Then he looked directly at where I sat on the stairs. “And Alina has a knack for attracting trouble.”

I nearly dropped my invisibility out of shock, but reminded myself that I had no reason to fear him. I had my power, and these were my people, too. Then he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, fingers steepled, as the troops began discussing how to carry out his orders.

A moment later, he was sitting beside me on the stairs with a smile on his lips.

“ _Saints_ ,” I hissed.

“Swearing on yourself now? It’s unbecoming.”

“Maybe if you didn’t insist on ‘making an example’ of people they would swear on you, too.” My voice was the barest whisper. Only I could hear the Darkling, but anyone could hear me. “What did I just overhear?”

“You heard me doing all I can to quell a revolution,” he said. “Unless, of course, you _do_ want blood shed in your name?”

“If it was your head on the pike, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”

“So seldom do we get what we wish,” he mused. Then he was gone. Downstairs in his simple chair, he opened his eyes and smiled again, as if at a private joke, before rejoining the discussions.

I stood and stormed back into the room, cursing his name.

* * *

He didn’t come upstairs for hours, and when he finally did I was burrowed under the covers with my nose in a history book. He stopped in the doorway and blinked at me, like he’d forgotten that we’d be sharing a room, or maybe he was surprised I hadn’t fled into the night. But he just nodded and continued into the washroom. I heard the tap running, then the bathwater.

I was always surprised to remember that he also needed basic human maintenance. Food. Sleep. Baths. _Touch?_ whispered a traitorous voice. But I heard him again in my head. _I don’t need much in the way of comfort_.

This was going to be awkward no matter what.

He emerged from the washroom with damp, rumpled hair and a towel around his waist. Droplets of water still clung to his skin. _Saints_. I tracked him with my eyes to see what he would do. At first I thought he meant to climb into bed with me naked and froze where I lay, but then he went over to his trunk and pulled out underwear, some loose trousers for sleep. He had his back to me, and I couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles moved. He wasn’t bulky, but lean, graceful. Beautiful in the way that foxgloves were beautiful — the way that warned of poison.

I rolled my eyes up toward the ceiling as he dressed, hiding my face behind my book.

“You don’t have to look so murderous,” he said without a glance at me. “We’ve done this before.”

That brought up too many questions, too many clamoring thoughts. I brushed the remark off and asked, “How did you know where I was? Could you see me?”

“You’ve known that trick for a century. I’ve had a century to learn the signs. I know to look for a slight shimmer in the air, to listen for the creak on the stairs.” I peeked over the book. He was decent, and he was watching me. “You’re predictable.”

“So are you.” I closed my book and set it on the nightstand, turning off the lamp. “Always ‘making an example.’ Making ‘necessary sacrifices.’”

He ran the towel over his hair, rumpling it further. “We’ve been over this.”

I shook my head and said, “There has to be another way.”

“I’ve lived much longer than you, Alina. I haven’t found it yet.” He folded the towel over the back of a chair.

“Maybe you just haven’t looked hard enough.”

He crossed to the light switch, but paused with his hand hovering over it. “There’s that soft heart,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So soft for everyone but me.”

Then we were in the dark. His element, not mine. I listened closely for his feet on the floorboards, felt the mattress sink as he settled himself on the other side of the bed. He did not move toward me, as I thought, hoped, feared he might. I heard a soft sigh escape his mouth, almost vulnerable, more intimate than touch.

I stared up at the ceiling in the dark. I wasn’t sure I could fall asleep next to him. My body was too alert, attuned to his presence. “You said we’d done this before. Shared a bed?”

“Yes.”

There was no way to find out what I wanted to know without asking a horrible question. I pressed on anyway. I had to know. “Did we ever… consummate the marriage?”

A brief, awkward pause. Then, voice low and strained, he said “Yes.”

I wondered if he could feel me cringe, if the mattress gave away my movements at all. I realized that I had known, but just hadn’t wanted to think about it. It was a terrible thought, him knowing me in that way, me with no memory of it. His hands on me — I knew what those felt like, but I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Nausea swept over me, and I turned away from him onto my side, curling in on myself. “That must have been fun for you.”

“For me.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “What sort of monster do you think I am?”

“One that doesn’t have much respect for my free will.” I touched the bone collar where it rested at my throat. “Or anyone’s.”

Another pause. “I’ll give you that,” he conceded. The bed creaked, the mattress shifted, and I realized he had turned toward me, that he was now speaking to my back. “Even so, I’ve barely touched you since you’ve awoken. And I could, Alina. You match me, but there is so much you’ve forgotten, and I am stronger. If I wanted to have you, there is no one in this world who would stop me. You are mine by right.”

I suddenly felt very cold.

“Do you know why I haven’t tried?” he asked, casually, like we were talking about the buying and selling of eggs at the market.

“Haven’t the faintest,” I said, but my mouth was dry.

His fingers skimmed the back of my nightshirt, and I froze. All he did was pick up a lock of my white hair and run his thumb over it. “It means nothing if you don’t want me.”

My nervous laugh came out like a sob. “Oh, is that all?”

“That’s all.”

I jerked my head away from him, and then, after steeling myself, I turned onto my other side. Better to face him. I could see the outline of my husband, the shape of his body, his pale eyes in the dark room. I saw him and I wanted to wound him. “Then I guess you’ll be waiting a long time, because I don’t want you. I will never want you, and I haven’t ever—”

“Oh, Alina,” he sighed, and then he very gently placed his index finger under my chin, stroked his thumb along my jaw. “To lie to me is to lie to yourself. I remember how you kissed me, at the lake, at the winter fete. That wasn’t so long ago for you, wasn’t it?” He paused meaningfully. “This afternoon wasn’t so long ago.”

Shame burned in my cheeks, in the pit of my stomach. Power coursed through me at his touch, sickeningly addictive, but my blood rushed faster, too. I said nothing.

“The consummation, no, that was not ‘fun,’” the Darkling continued. “I have lived too long and done too much for mere physical release to be ‘fun.’ But it was necessary to seal the marriage, and you agreed to it. You weren’t forced. I didn’t hurt you.”

I forced myself to keep eye contact, to not flinch from him. That must be a tidy lie he told himself. I had just lost Mal. My own fragmented memory and what I had read both suggested I was deep in my own grief. I married the Darkling because there was no other choice, and him bedding me was part and parcel of that. That was how royal marriage worked for centuries, and I knew that, but I didn’t like it. _At least he hadn’t liked it either,_ I thought with prickling spite. My heartbeat was loud in my ears.

“I left you alone after that, although you may not believe me.” He tilted my chin up. “Every other time, I waited for you to seek me out. And I found that infinitely more rewarding.”

“No,” I whispered, learning there were new layers to my horror. He was playing with me. He had to be. “I wouldn’t. Not if you were the last man on earth. Not— not in a hundred years.”

“It didn’t take a hundred years.” His hand slid to rest against my neck. I closed my eyes out of revulsion, or maybe out of something else. “And if I pulled you to me now, Alina, if I dared—”

“I would scream loud enough to wake the inn,” I snapped, but my voice was trembling. _I_ was trembling, and I hated myself for it.

“Yes, you would.” His mouth was close enough to mine that I could nearly feel the words form against my lips. Then, abruptly, he took his hand back and pulled away from me. “Good night.”

“What?” I asked, my skin tingling with the memory of his touch. I nearly sat up. “ _What_?”

This time, he turned his back on me. “I won’t do you the favor of letting you pretend I took away your choice. It’s yours. And the offer stands.”

I turned back over, punching my pillow into shape and scooting as far away from him as I possibly could. “I hate you so much,” I snapped, but it was a child’s retort.

“That, I do believe.” There was wry amusement in his tone. “Try to sleep. We’ll be back in Os Alta tomorrow.”

I pulled the covers over my head. And while I did try to sleep, sleep didn’t come easily, thanks to the pounding of my fickle, traitorous, too-human heart.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you want to be more involved in the running of the empire, I have to be able to depend on you. What have you done to earn my trust?”
> 
> I turned back to my painting, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s not like you’ve done anything to earn mine.”
> 
> He pressed his lips together, considering something. Then he said, “Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 15 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/631336707854417920/if-you-want-to-be-more-involved-in-the-running-of).

When we returned to Os Alta the next afternoon, I sent out a request for books on dragons. I didn’t care that it probably made me look foolish, a queen chasing after fairy tales. It wasn’t as though anyone ever bothered to question me anyway. Then, before I could be waylaid, I rang for my dinner tray and took it down to the cellar.

My world may have changed drastically over the last few days, but the rest of the world had not. The monster was where he always was, prowling behind the Grisha steel bars. The Darkling had not taken advantage of my absence to move him, a fear I didn’t realize I had until I saw him in his proper place.

When he heard, or maybe smelled, me coming, he stood up on his hind legs and clawed at the bars.

“You act like no one’s fed you in days,” I teased. Privately I hoped that no one had. The cellar didn’t smell like fresh blood. The stench of death was old, musty, lingering, not new. Either there were no new prisoners to disappear — unlikely — or the Darkling had found somewhere else to send them now that I’d befriended his chief executioner.

I sat with crossed legs and carved off pieces of chicken to push through the bars, then let him have the half carcass to pick at. But even after he’d eaten, he was uncharacteristically restless. When I sat down with my back to him and reached for my book, he kept nosing at my hair, trying to smell me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

A low growl, but no words.

“Is it because I went to other places?” _Because I slept next to the Darkling for an entire night?_ I thought but did not say. I didn’t know if the monster was like a dog, heavily reliant on smell — I didn’t know if the monster was _like_ any other creature that existed — but something I had seen or worn or done clearly agitated him.

After a few minutes, the monster settled down with a grumble.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what you want.”

He huffed. If he could understand me, it must be unendingly frustrating for him that I could not understand him back.

“Time for a bath, huh?” I quipped. “Don’t worry, the next time I see you I should smell like rose petals and vanilla. Then we can all go back to normal.”

The monster let out a long sigh and settled into what was definitely a sulk. Clearly I didn’t get it at all. I decided I should go back to my rooms and maybe see about a bath sooner rather than later.

* * *

When I opened the door to my bedchamber, a fire was roaring in the grate, and Natalia was sitting in one of the two plush chairs in front of my fireplace. There were new books and papers on the low table, neatly stacked and waiting for me.

“I rang for a bath,” she said, standing when she saw me come in. “I thought you’d want to wash off all of that travel.”

“Is mind-reading a Tailor skill now?” I kicked off my shoes and settled into the chair across from her, and to my relief she sat without me having to ask her. Even though I was very comfortable as I was, I leaned forward to study the materials that had been left for me.

The books I had requested on dragons arrived, although there wasn’t much information to be had from them: compilations on legends of the Shu dragons, an account from an adventurer who, a couple of centuries ago, had decided to seek out dragons — with little success — and an illustrated book on Sankt Juris, probably for school children. But beside them were the several stacks of papers that I had not asked for.

“What is all this?” I asked, rifling through them. “Catering options, seating, itineraries… lists of visiting delegations?”

Natalia leaned forward, equally puzzled. But then her face lit up with comprehension. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “This is all for the centennial.”

“The what?”

She frowned at me.

“Pretend I know nothing,” I said. “I’ve heard it mentioned a couple of times, but I’m not sure what it is.”

“It’s the commemoration of a hundred years of your rule. Yours and the Darkling’s. There’s going to be a big party. They’ve already been planning for months.” She picked up one of the pieces of paper nearer her. “Although… it looks like someone wants you to be more involved in that planning.”

We both knew who that someone was. “Great,” I groaned, setting my elbows on the table and cradling my head in my hands. “Just perfect.” I’d done this to myself. I’d told him I wanted more responsibility.

“Oh—” Natalia leaned forward and put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right,” she managed, although she sounded unsure.

“Natalia, in the time that you’ve known me, have I _ever_ liked party planning?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But the Darkling doesn’t either. You both have people for that, but since the centennial is such a big deal maybe he wants to give it extra attention. I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.”

“Do you know the people who normally run our events?”

“Not well, but I can list their names for you.”

“That would be really helpful.” I stared at all of the documents. There was so much just for one party. Where was I even supposed to begin?

“Oh— um, Alina.” Natalia still said my name like it was sour candy in her mouth. Old habits die hard. “What did you do to your hair?”

“Nothing,” I said, looking down at my braid. “I barely touched it. Why?”

“I guess that explains the state it’s in,” she said awkwardly. “It’s gone flat and the shine’s faded. I’m going to go get the silver. I can fix it while you’re in the bath.”

To my surprise, I laughed. It was such a Genya thing to say, but her delivery was so different. I still missed Genya fiercely, but I realized I had also missed Natalia. Not a replacement for that exuberant energy, but a strangely grounded presence among the insanity of my unlikely life.

“It might have been singed by a fire-breathing dragon while I was out,” I said slyly.

Natalia’s eyes widened. “It _what_?!”

“Get the silver. I’ll tell you about it.” I was already thinking about the small ways I would have to edit the story, but the Darkling was there for most of it so I could leave large parts intact. Saints, it was exhausting that the only person I could talk to who would talk back to me was undoubtedly also a spy.

Not as exhausting as party planning, though. I looked miserably at the piles of papers and wished I could hurl them into the fire. What was I going to do?

* * *

Over the next few days, I tried my best to be an organizer. I met with the heads of different committees, whose interpersonal drama, contradictory requests, and constant attempts to vie for my attention would put real courtiers to shame. I fielded requests and directed Natalia — when she was here, and a personal scribe when she wasn’t — to help me organize my schedule. My days were crammed with reading and meetings and decision-making.

It was not going well.

I found my only solace in the late evenings, when I could eat dinner with the monster or in the solitude of my own rooms and then spend time reading or painting. The dragon books sat mostly untouched on my nightstand as I tried to finish some of my Ravkan history volumes before moving on to my next big mystery. It was slow going. I had reached the point in the books where history grew grueling and brutal, and reading it hurt. After I learned what had happened to Genya, and then to Baghra, I put down my own biography and didn’t pick it up again.

Art was how I really found escape. With a pen or a brush in my hand, I didn’t have to think about anything other than making real what was in my head. There were no uncomfortable truths, none of the shocking revelations that I somehow encountered while reading. Just me and my thoughts, alone.

“You always used to do that.”

Apparently not that alone. I turned. The Darkling was in the open doorway of the studio, leaning against the frame. My first thought was that he was projecting himself, but then I remembered that there was, in fact, only a door separating his rooms and mine, and he had the key. I felt across the tether between us; it was definitely him, no phantom.

“Do what?” I asked, annoyed that he would rob me of even this.

“Paint, when you had a lot on your mind.”

I shrugged. “It relaxes me.”

“You’d let me stay sometimes. I would read, or play violin.” There was melancholy in his voice, but I couldn’t trust that it was real. “Do you… want accompaniment?”

I stabbed my brush into a glob of white paint. “I don’t need accompaniment. Or company.”

He watched me closely, with fathomless intensity. Not like he was undressing me with his eyes, but like he was trying to peel away every layer of skin to find out how I worked underneath. “You were a mapmaker, weren’t you? Before.”

“A half-decent mapmaker at best,” I said, with a snort that was definitely not queenly. “But I’ve always liked drawing. Art.” I looked at the brush in my hand, the little tubes of paint on the table. “I’ve never had tools like this before, though.”

“You’ve gotten very good at it.” He took a step into the room, then another. I sat up straighter, like I was prepared to defend my work, and he stopped, gaze switching from me to my canvas. “The forest?”

I, too, looked at my painting, at the streaks of black and brown and white that somehow became the forest of skinny birch trees where a dragon had nearly stolen me away. “It’s been on my mind. And all of the paintings I’ve found were of landscapes. But I know…” I frowned, frustrated by the limits of my memory. “I know there have to be more, after a century.”

The Darkling said nothing.

“Maybe in a gallery somewhere,” I prompted. “A nice museum?”

“Are you still thinking about the dragon?”

“Didn’t you say she would try to come for me again?” He didn’t reply. I let out a sigh. It might be a weakness to openly display my emotions, but I made no bones about how unhappy I was. He could deal with it. “I’m just frustrated. I’m frustrated by how much I still don’t know. And you—” I jabbed my paintbrush at him. “—are not helping, by trying to distract me with the centennial. I should be training, or helping with real matters of state, or—”

“The centennial is a good test. It’s not just a party, it’s an important diplomatic event. Dignitaries from every country will be in attendance, even royalty.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t care about them.”

“I don’t, and yet _we_ must. The eternal paradox.”

“Of course, you hand off the work you _don’t_ want to me.” Remembering what Natalia had told me about the city’s defenses, I added, “I know I used to do more than this.”

“Yes, but that was then.” He gave me one of his half-smiles, but it was strained. “If you want to be more involved in the running of the empire, I have to be able to depend on you. What have you done to earn my trust?”

I turned back to my painting, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s not like you’ve done anything to earn mine.”

He pressed his lips together, considering something. Then he said, “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Trust, Alina.”

With another sigh, I stood up from my stool and shed my smock, cleaning up my paints and brushes with deliberate slowness. I could feel impatience rolling off of the Darkling in waves, but he said nothing and I was content to let him stew. The man who had so recently waved away several decades like they were nothing could wait ten minutes to make sure I didn’t smudge paint over everything I touched.

When I was satisfied that all was as it should be, I slipped my boots back on — I had unlaced them while pacing around the rooms — and took my time lacing them up. Finally, I shrugged my _kefta_ back on, straightened it out, and said, “All right, lead on.”

That little crease was between his brows, and he was looking at me like I was a knot he couldn’t untangle. But he nodded and turned, and I followed him out of my studio and into the hall.

“You seem to find it fun to vex me,” he observed.

I had to trot to keep up with him. “Well, since I apparently don’t know how to kill you, I thought I’d try vexing you to death. Is it working?”

The Darkling smiled. “Such a cruel mistress you are, Alina.”

The way my heart felt in my chest told me that whatever I was trying to do had backfired spectacularly. I tried to make myself think of Mal — Mal in the clearing just before we found Morozova’s stag, Mal holding my hand on the Fold — and said evenly, “I thought you’d admire cruelty.”

“I make use of it when I need to,” he said, “but like so many men who are called cruel, I’m not always fond of receiving it.”

I bit my lip to keep from asking him whether he could dish out punishment, but not take it. “You really make it too easy for me, you know,” I said instead.

“I know,” was the reply. “But I like to see whether you’ll take the bait.”

He led me out of the shadowed hall where our private rooms lay and into the palace proper. The few servants still at their tasks stopped and bowed to us as they passed. By now I’d often wandered the palace after dark, but I could never shake the feeling of trespassing, like I had stepped into the unwelcoming past, or the ghosts of the Lantsov family were angry with me personally for stripping their symbols away. My husband seemed immune.

We stopped before a door that I had never really noticed before, just one more in a very long hallway. The Darkling took a large bronze key out of the pocket of his _kefta_ , paused, and then handed it to me. Confused, I took it from him.

“It’s yours,” he said. “You decide whether or not to open the door.”

I passed the key back and forth between my hands. “Now I’m nervous.”

“No need to be. You can come back to it later if you want.”

But that wasn’t what I was nervous about. I didn’t know if I was ready for answers about who I had been. Some of them, I knew from my reading, were good— but maybe not all.

I took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock.

The lights clicked on automatically when I stepped into the room. We had entered a long room with light yellow walls, more beautiful parquet flooring, gilded baseboards. It was almost a corridor itself, with an arched window at the end that must catch the light in the day but offered nothing at night. None of that was why my hand flew to my mouth.

I hadn’t expected to be right about the gallery. There were rows and rows of paintings on the walls, some framed beautifully, others simply, and others hung up on plaster partitions in the middle of the long room. But there wasn’t enough room for them. Canvases sat in neat stacks in the corners, waiting for their turn to be displayed. I immediately started scanning them for familiar faces, familiar scenes, but there were so many that they all blurred together.

“Your friends are toward the back, on the table in front of the window,” said the Darkling, sensing my intent. “The most recent paintings are nearest the door. All of your sketches have been bound and preserved.”

I practically flew to the back of the gallery without thanking him. There were several large, leather-bound volumes of drawings. Some had been pasted in, others preserved in some kind of clear film, Fabrikator craft, to preserve them. The very oldest were yellowed anyway. I brushed my fingers over them. Nearly a century old.

It was there that I found the faces I was looking for. Here was Genya, both smooth-skinned as I knew her and with her face marred by painful scars — twisted souvenirs of her torture at the Darkling’s hands, as I had learned. Scarred or not, I always drew her with her head high and with a smile on her lips. Here were Nadia and Marie, who had been my classmates in the Little Palace. To my great surprise, I found Zoya here too, as if she was such a compelling subject that I could not avoid her, although I couldn’t imagine the Zoya I knew sitting contemplatively in front of a fire with a cat on her lap.

Then there were the unfamiliar subjects: Grisha unknown to me, _otkasat'sya_ soldiers with my sunburst tattooed on their faces, a pair of Shu mercenaries who were entirely different in build and stature but so similar in their features that they had to be related. And a young man who, I realized with a jolt, had the face of my monster in the cellar.

And Mal. Mal filled the pages of these early books. I had drawn him every conceivable way: sitting, standing, cleaning a rifle, hiking. Mal as he had been as a child, running with me through the rooms of Keramzin. In some drawings, he was grinning so brightly that he hurt to look at. In others, he wasn’t wearing very much, looking up at me with his head resting in the crook of his elbow. I didn’t know if we’d actually stolen moments of intimacy during the war or whether the woman who’d drawn this just wished we had. But I could tell when I started to forget his face, when the lines grew looser and less exact, when most of what I had of him was the shape of his eyes, the texture of his hair, his smile.

Some of the drawings looked like they had been crumpled and then smoothed out, the ghosts of folds still visible. I thumbed the corner of a drawing of Genya that did not want to lie flat. “I kept all of these?”

“I did,” the Darkling said quietly.

“Even though they weren’t of you.” I couldn’t look at him. I felt the dam inside of me, only recently patched, straining again, threatening to burst.

“Even so. All of them.”

“I thought you might have them burned.”

He set down a piece of paper next to my right hand, and I nearly jumped. It had been crumpled then folded neatly in quarters, and when I unfolded it I saw that it was the sketch I had made of him on the train, reading the newspaper.

“I might have, once,” he said. “But I want every part of you, Alina. Even the ones you’d rather hide. Especially those.”

I glanced at the crumpled paper, then looked away, feeling my cheeks burn. He wasn’t entitled to those parts, but he occupied them anyway. As I flipped through these books of my old drawings, I tried to ignore how he kept invading the pages. The Darkling slipped in between the friendly faces, a figure in shadow, sometimes seductive, sometimes terrifying, sometimes oddly vulnerable. The Alina I had been was apparently just as fascinated and furious with him as me.

I stood and protectively clasped one of the volumes of drawings to my chest, treating it like armor that would keep me apart from him. “I’m keeping these. I’m taking them back to my room.”

He seemed unfazed. “As is your right.”

“What are the rest of them?” I asked, looking around at the wall. Back here I recognized a painting of Keramzin, another one of me and Mal playing as children, the nightmarish shape of a volcra. But he said they were chronological, back to front. What had I been painting if not the familiar?

“Go and find out,” he said, with strange gentleness.

I did. I wasn’t sure how long I wandered there. I had expected to see renderings of court life, extravagant balls, ballets, maybe the packed throne room. And there was some of that, some of the subdued elegance I’d come to expect from the Darkling’s court.

But there was more of the mundane. Children — a stranger’s children, I assumed, or wholly fictional — kicking a ball around in the middle of an empty street. The cooks in the Grand Palace preparing food together while gossiping shamelessly. A couple, arm and arm, dressed for the theater. A little girl clinging to her mother’s skirt as the mother haggled over the price of fish in the Os Alta market, her face determined. A farmer sitting outside of his barn, hands in his pockets.

“These are all…” I murmured, but I didn’t finish. Little moments. Moments from strangers’ lives. Moments I would never have, not from behind the walls of the Palace. I might long for them, but by virtue of power and position, I would always be apart.

But it was clear that the Alina I had been loved these people. Her people. She loved them, she wanted to protect them, and she understood them, even if she could no longer walk among them.

 _Don’t forget to be human_.

I didn’t look for the Darkling, but I knew he was nearby. He always was. My second shadow. “Can’t we just…” I began, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I looked again at the picture of the farmer, taking a short respite from a full day of labor. “Haven’t you ever thought about having just this?”

“No,” came his hushed reply. “Never.”

“Why not?”

He stepped into my periphery. I did not move toward him. “I never had the luxury. No Grisha did until the founding of the Second Army. None of us dared to dream of a better life until me.”

I hugged the book of my drawings closer to my chest.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “There is still so much work to do, Alina.”

 _But you deprive them of this_ , I wanted to scream. _You, with needless violence, with the threat of the Fold._ And that was why it was so important that I was here. Because I dared to dream. I dared to imagine something beyond the twisted shadows of his grey world, safe and solid and suppressed, a world he could destroy with a wave of his hand.

I never asked for any of this, to help build up a country, be its protector, be its queen. I was a sham Saint, peasant-born and undereducated. And I was still missing a century of time.

But I promised Mal I wouldn’t forget. And I won’t.

“Then I guess I’d better get started,” I said.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I looked down at my gloved hands, at the power I knew they held. “Are you going to let me have my schools?” I asked. “Or am I going to have to fight you for them?”
> 
> “There are more effective ways to persuade me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 16 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/631517638366019584/i-looked-down-at-my-gloved-hands-at-the-power).

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” said Belyev, the Minister of Education, patting his round belly, “you do know how to host a luncheon.”

“You’re too kind,” I demurred.

He scoffed, but it really was nice of him to say that when I had no idea what I was doing. I’d started hosting the lunches shortly after centennial duties had been forced upon me; I found planning with the heads of the various committees less painful over food, and they seemed to agree. It came to the point that I was hosting people in my small private dining room nearly every day, sometimes for dinner, but mostly for lunch, so I could keep my evenings free. Even though I wasn’t sure I was doing a good job, no one had killed each other yet, which had to mean something.

The cooks at the Grand Palace always outdid themselves, so at least the food was excellent. Today we dined on veal, stuffed cabbage leaves, roasted sprouts, thinly sliced potatoes in a thick cream sauce. _Kvas_ and wine were in continuous supply. Well-lubricated guests were more agreeable, with me if not always with each other. Then again, people tended to agree when you were a queen with a tyrant for a husband.

These mealtimes had a second function, though. I could begin to feel out what kind of influence I had in this strange new government. And it was strange. The Darkling had completely scoured the nobility when he took the throne, one of the few things other than marrying me that elevated him to any degree in the eyes of the exploited peasants. Theoretically, positions were now awarded on merit. In reality, bullies and sadists thrived in many branches, particularly in law enforcement and the judiciary, such as it was. The Darkling valued order and brutal efficiency.

But with Natalia’s help, I collected the names of the people who had been my allies — all in domestic affairs. Ministers of education, of housing, of several unglamorous industries. Surprisingly, trade and defense were sometimes within my circle of influence as well. Although I knew she was likely telling my husband everything, Natalia was invaluable to me as a resource. She had been at my side for a handful of years, so she knew a lot about my life that I didn’t. And nothing I was doing now was overreaching, since it lined up with what I _had_ done, so the Darkling couldn’t mind. Not that that would stop him.

From my note-taking sessions with Natalia, I knew that Belyev had inherited his father’s position after a brief but obligatory stint in the army. She had also told me that Petrova, the Minister of Housing, had grown up in a state orphanage, like me. I had expected them to be young, like I was — like I felt — so it surprised me to find a tall, sharp-eyed woman in her fifties sitting at Petrova’s place at the table and a man with thinning hair and a friendly face in Belyev’s.

Conversation over the meal had been both political and personal. From the tidbits Natalia collected, I knew to ask after Belyev’s children and Petrova’s third husband. If I failed to remember anything important, they didn’t notice or at least let it slide.

But now that we were picking at the remains of our dessert, skinned pears in a sugar syrup, I wanted to get to business. And I did business the only way I knew how. I was an orphaned peasant girl wrenched from obscurity by a single talent. I was blunt.

“Minister Belyev,” I said, pushing away the last of my pears and grabbing a notepad instead, “this is probably the thousandth time I’ve asked, but how many of Ravka’s children can read?”

Belyev waved his handkerchief as if to tell me not to worry about asking again, then dabbed it at the corners of his mouth before answering. “As many as we could hope, _moi soverenyi_ ,” he said. “The population has swelled in the past fifty years. We can only build schools so fast. And higher education is suffering.”

“And children can only spend so much time in schools when the farms have to retain certain levels of productivity, _moi soverenyi_ ,” Petrova added. “Standards are high.”

I fidgeted with the wedding ring on my right hand. I wore the ring during my luncheons — too many questions would be raised if I didn’t — and had developed a habit of adjusting it on my finger as I mulled over a problem. “One of my husband’s policies?”

“Armies must be fed.”

It was a political non-answer. “As must people,” I said. I gave my ring a quarter-turn.

Petrova nodded. “But there is never enough.” The rest remained unspoken: for Ravka, for him.

I leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Tell me how I can help.”

Petrova wanted to build more state homes for orphaned children near the border — even now there were orphans — as a start, an immediate need, while Belyev needed more support for the straining public school system. I listened, although my head spun. Who was I to think that I could help them accomplish any of this?

Then, without an announcement, the door to my dining room opened. I picked my head up to look and felt, rather than saw, Petrova and Belyev shrink back from me. But I already knew who would be standing there. The lack of an announcement from the guards outside meant it could only be an extremely competent assassin or the Darkling.

I squared my shoulders, preparing for war. “Hello,” I said. “Have you come to join us?”

He looked around at the room, his grey eyes narrowed, and didn’t even bother nodding to the ministers before fixing his eyes on me. “Alina,” he said. “What is this?”

Of course, I had been hosting these soirees for weeks, and of course he didn’t bother interrupting until I was speaking to people who actually mattered. He knew very well what this was. But even though I was lacking experience, I could learn. I made myself smile at him. “Minister Belyev was just telling me how we could improve Ravka’s education system, from primary school to the universities.”

Beside me, Belyev was sweating. It was unnerving to see the jolly education minister and the eagle-eyed Petrova so nervous, when they had been relaxed mere moments ago.

The Darkling looked at him, then at me. “Is that so?”

I didn’t have to playact too much. My head was still spinning from all that I’d heard. My excitement was real. “I never thought there’d be a Ravka where so many children could _read_.” He would remember that literacy was a novelty in my time for those who weren’t lucky enough to be born into wealth. “But there’s been a population boom and we need more schools.”

A distracted frown touched the corners of his mouth. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s what our country needs,” I pressed. “But we don’t have the funds. The budget doesn’t allow for it.”

The frown deepened. “Well, then, I’ll… have a word with the treasury.”

“I would be very grateful.” I bent over my notepad, then picked my head up again. “Never mind, I’ll speak with them. I know how busy you are.”

I turned, as though to engage Petrova in conversation, but the Darkling still watched me from the doorway.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Dearest wife.” He bowed to me, but only I caught the faint mockery in it, the simmering anger. “I would be honored to borrow a few moments of your time later.”

My heart thumped. What could he want? But I kept my voice even and calm. “As soon as my business is concluded here, esteemed husband, I will be happy to join you.”

His eyes flicked to the two ministers. “In your own time,” he said, and left.

The changes in body language were stark and immediate. Petrova’s spine relaxed, but she said nothing. Belyev placed his hands on the table and let out an audible sigh. This was the effect that the Darkling had on the people who weren’t his favored servants.

“Don’t worry about him,” I muttered. “I’ll talk to him later.”

In truth, I wasn’t sure how much I could protect anyone from the Darkling. If I showed favoritism it would only make targets. I’d have to remain carefully indifferent, which sounded exhausting.

To my surprise, Belyev leaned over and patted my hand. “The future of Ravka is worth more than any one life, the lives of our sovereigns excepted. Are you sure you can find the money?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” I promised, feeling the weight on my shoulders. I could manage this, but how well, and for how long? I shook my head and tapped my pen to the notepad. “So, where were we?”

* * *

After I emerged from my lunch, one of the servants told me the Darkling awaited me in the gardens. It was a clear, bright day, but it was also winter, so I changed into my warmest _kefta_ , donned a pair of fur-lined gloves, and went to join him.

The Darkling waited by the garden doors, his hands folded behind his back, looking out at the pristine layer of snow that had fallen the previous day. The garden paths had already been shoveled. Delicate icicles hung from tree branches, dripping away under the sun. At night, it would all freeze over again.

Two attendant guards pushed the door open when I approached, and the Darkling and I stepped out onto the path together. He made no move to take my arm or hold my hand, seemingly content to simply walk beside me.

“You have odd habits for a queen,” he remarked.

“Well, you have odd habits for a dictator.”

“You don’t keep a scribe to take down your minutes of meeting. Your fingers must be stained with ink.”

They were, but they were also covered with gloves, and I wasn’t going to let him know he was right. “I prefer doing it myself,” I said. It was half-true. Although I’d made use of the palace scribes by now, it had never occurred to me to procure one for a luncheon. “Besides, they’re informal lunches.”

“Informal lunches where business is done.” He cocked his head. “You’re politicking.”

I couldn’t hide my defensiveness. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s a surprise.” He paused. “It’s not unwelcome. You just never had any patience for it at eighteen.”

“I barely have patience for it now. But I realized I could change the world with more than...” I looked down at my gloved hands, at the power I knew they held. “Are you going to let me have my schools?” I asked. “Or am I going to have to fight you for them?”

“There are more effective ways to persuade me.”

“I’m about ten seconds away from fighting you at any given time,” I said, flexing my fingers. “Please give me the excuse.”

Instead, he gave an uncaring shrug. “I saw the Little Palace founded, but I have no plans for mass education. I am not opposed to your literacy initiatives for the _otkazat’sya_. You’re welcome to take an interest in whatever you wish, so long as you don’t interfere with my agenda.”

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“I don’t want your ministers forgetting where they stand.”

I glared at him. I was no longer shocked, and I could not be dismissive. It wasn’t a game to him. “These are working relationships.”

“Heads have been lost over less.”

I knew he wasn’t lying, but I shrugged. Every conversation was a balancing act. Now was the time to be flippant. “Well, you don’t have to worry about Belyev. He isn’t my type, and he has a gaggle of children and a loving wife on his estate just outside of Ryevost. He showed me their photographs.”

“Petrova is a handsome woman,” he said lightly.

“She’s too old for me.” I wondered what he was trying to test. I doubted he thought I was really attracted to either of them, although he probably resented them for stealing my time. More likely he wanted to see if I was still green enough to walk into his traps.

A half-smile flashed across the Darkling’s face. “Such choosiness from a girl approaching her hundred and seventeenth year. If Petrova is too old, what do you make of me?”

“You already know you have a youthful face. Let your mirror do the talking. You don’t have to bait me into saying it.”

“But I hear so few words of praise otherwise, Alina.”

“Why don’t you ask one of the _oprichniki_ to tell you how noble and handsome you are?”

“Somehow, it doesn’t have the same ring.”

I caught myself smiling too, and schooled my face into a scowl. I hated how comfortable our thorny conversations were becoming, especially when they were so fraught with real consequence. But there was a rhythm to them, an almost predictability, like we were developing inside jokes — something truly unthinkable.

We walked on in silence for a few minutes, damp gravel crunching beneath our boots. Despite our antagonizing, the silence itself was comfortable, which made me feel a twinge of guilt. It was only compounded when we turned down the lane with the apple trees. This seemed like it should be private, mine, even though anyone could walk through the gardens. I tensed, and we stopped. The Darkling gave me a questioning look.

“Do you know why I had so many apple trees planted?” I asked, nodding at branches which now bore spikes of ice instead of fruit.

“No. You never confided that particular secret. You don’t remember?” I shook my head, and his lips thinned. “I’m given to believe it’s something to do with Oretsev, since they can also be found at his grave.”

I’d come to the same conclusion, and although I itched with curiosity, I found myself at peace with possibly never knowing. Mal and I could have that final shared confidence, our last wink, the remnant of our secret language. All I needed to know was that it was ours.

The Darkling picked up one of my hands. “Come,” he said, drawing me down the path. “When you live as long as we do, there is nothing to gain by avoiding ghosts.”

My mouth opened in a protest, then snapped closed. I didn’t know how to argue that. I let him lead me down the path to the circular pool at the end. It had frozen solid. Without letting go of my hand, he crouched down to brush a little snow off the surface, then stood again. Even though we weren’t touching skin to skin, my hand still felt overly warm in his. I was glad the cold had already pinked my cheeks.

“I understand your grief,” he said, looking into the ice, which, reflecting the sun, was as shiny as a new silver coin. “I lost someone, too.”

“I’m sure you’ve lost many someones,” I snapped, maybe too callously, but I didn’t really care. I refused to believe he could understand what I felt — feel — for Mal. “You so love reminding me how much older you are and how much more experience you have, how I know so little.”

He pursed his lips. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? I’m tired of riddles.”

“Then you won’t like my answer.” The Darkling sighed. “Because she’s gone, and yet, somehow, standing next to me. And in all my years of experience, Alina, in my very long life, I have never experienced a loss quite like this.”

It took me a second to realize that he was talking about _me_.

“Oh,” I said quietly.

“Mm.”

I knew what he was trying to do. I knew he wanted to reel me in, and I wasn’t about to let him. But I still had so many lingering questions. With a huff, I let go of his hand and sat on the edge of the pool’s stone rim, pulling at the fabric of my _kefta_ to get comfortable. “What was she like? Your Alina.”

“ _My_ Alina.” He laughed, softly. It sounded sad.

“She turned herself over,” I pressed.

“She did. It wasn’t her first choice, as you know.” He sat down beside me, gazing out past the nearest tree, seeing something that I did not. “So she was often distant. I am not so proud that I would tell you she was blissfully happy. She wasn’t. Experiencing that first true loss… it can take years, or decades, to pass.”

“Or centuries,” I murmured, pulling my knees into my chest and resting my head against them.

“I find the wounds cease to ache after a century,” he mused. “Perhaps she would have said differently. But as the years wore on, and she realized there was nothing else left, we became more companionable.”

I shook my head. “Because there was _nothing else left_.”

He ran a hand through his hair. The way the sunlight glimmered on the sharp planes of his face made him look deceptively young. “There was never anything else,” he said quietly. “Every other choice was a false one. The power we have, the things we grasp that other people never will— we were always each other’s only option.”

“And that’s romance.” My voice was flat.

“Many people equate fate with romance, Alina.”

“Do you?”

He closed his eyes. “She never shed that melancholy. I hoped she would. But we would spend time together, and enjoy each other’s company. We fought side by side almost as fiercely as we fought with each other, whenever she found the energy to fight me. She was more merciful than I was, even when she was distant from the world. She never forgot what it was like to be _otkazat’sya_. We clashed over that most, over the fate of those people. To her enemies, I’m sure she was terrible. To me, she was…”

The Darkling trailed off. Something ached in my chest. I shifted my cheek against my knees and tightened my arms around my legs. “You sound very married.”

His mouth curled up at the corner. “I suppose I am.”

I averted my gaze. I don’t know why it hurt to realize that he missed her. It made me uncomfortable to think of him as a person with feelings. But he might just be telling me what he thought I wanted to hear, the thing that would tug at my heartstrings. That there was a version of me capable of being missed, cherished, loved.

“But if this is the Alina I have now,” he continued, “I don’t think I’ll be too upset.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, that’s what every girl wants to hear.”

He chuckled. “You’re the same person. Just younger. And you’re right, I _am_ much older. There are aspects of youth that I have forgotten, and you remind me of them. I don’t know how you’re not exhausted _feeling_ as much as you do all the time.”

“It would probably be easier to feel less,” I admitted. I immediately wished I could take it back.

But he just smiled and said, “You’ll get your wish in a few centuries. For now, I don’t mind it.”

I picked up my head. “You don’t? Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I were your resigned companion?”

“Oh, you’re extremely vexing, Alina. But you’re so…”

“Charming?” I suggested.

“ _Alive_.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. “As in, ‘not dead?’”

“As in, ‘full of vitality.’ It’s unexpected.” He paused, then repeated, “I don’t mind it.”

“Seeing as you’ve only ever lied to me, I am going to take this to mean that you absolutely hate it.”

The Darkling fell quiet for a while, which I assumed meant I was right. Just as I was about to tell him that I was cold and we should go inside, he said, “During our last fight on the Fold, I told you that I would break you even if it took me another lifetime. I know you don’t remember,” he added, at my raised eyebrows. “It is remarkable how old I was then and how I now regard myself as young and arrogant for saying that. I did not break you, Alina. I didn’t need to.”

“Mal’s death did that for you,” I realized aloud.

He nodded. “I wanted you always,” he said. “Because even when I had you, part of you was lost to me. As it turns out, I like you now. I like you whole.”

I didn’t know how he could say that. I didn’t feel whole, missing so much time. But I had only the memory of Mal’s death, whereas the girl who’d come before had been there, had held him as he bled onto the sand. I couldn’t know the extent of that shock, that anguish. I grieved for him, but my grief must be tame in comparison, not the wild thing that had swallowed her up for a time and never quite let her out of its jaws.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, utterly at sea.

He took my hands, both of them, in his. “Don’t say anything.”

We were sitting so close now that my left thigh brushed his right. I straightened up, only to find myself bearing the full force of his thunderstorm gaze. But I wasn’t afraid. I had borne worse.

The first time the Darkling kissed me, it was on a winter night, and the lake at the Little Palace had frozen over. He had only ever kissed me at night, under the cloaking darkness that he wielded so well, over and over at the winter fete, once in his dimly lit tent in Kribirsk. But it was afternoon, and the sun, my eternal ally, had not yet sunk low in the sky. It lit every facet of him, all of his secrets. It threw into sharp relief the flicker of his eyes toward my lips, the way he leaned toward me. This terrible monster, this selfish creature, belonged to his own ambition, but whether he liked it or not, he was also mine.

I wanted so badly to have something that was mine. I made this our first kiss under the sun.

His mouth was soft and familiar against mine, welcoming me back for what might, to him, be the thousandth time. Then he bore down on me, releasing my hands so he could clutch me to him. My only thought was that I must be insane before I stopped thinking at all, swept up in the tide of his emotions, in yearning deep enough to drown us both, in the constant prickle of resentment for making him feel this way. His lips parted, his tongue demanded response, and I gave him what he wanted, what he hated that he needed. What I hated that I needed, too. I think I moaned. I think he swallowed the sound.

It didn’t feel like giving in, not exactly, but it wasn’t a victory, either. I was coming to learn that every person is burdened by wants and needs, and so here we were, kissing in daylight — less human than anyone else, more human than we had any right to be, and maybe greedier for each other because of it.

When we parted, both of my hands were fisted in the fur collar of his _kefta_. I didn’t even remember doing that. His breath intermingled with mine, clouds of white mist in the space between us.

“Alina,” he murmured. His gloved hand caressed the nape of my neck. This time he kissed me, and I rose to meet him. The power in me rose to meet him too, something pure and clear like the ringing of a bell. Then we broke apart again, and it faded.

“It’s cold,” I finally managed.

“Is it?”

Truth be told, I didn’t know anymore. Sense was starting to return, and I was a little afraid of what might happen if I didn’t get away from him. “I should go back inside. There’s work I need to do for the centennial—”

“Leave it for now.”

“I would,” I replied, “but it was assigned by a very strict taskmaster.”

“So it was.” He sighed. “I’ll have a word with him.”

He helped me up from the stones, but how we got to the garden doors I could not say. The guards opened them for us again without a word. If they had seen anything, their faces did not give it away.

The Darkling took me to my rooms, and although he looked at the door, he did not ask for an invitation or show himself in. He just picked up my gloved hands and let his lips graze the knuckles of one, then the other. My blood was pounding so hard in my veins that I could barely keep my thoughts straight, but there was something important I needed to remember.

“Since it doesn’t matter to you— the schools,” I said breathlessly, before he could go. “Will I have my way?”

“You terrible little thing,” he said, with what seemed like genuine admiration. “Of course you will.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is cheery,” I sighed, shaking him off. “Do you talk to all of the girls you chase this way?”
> 
> “Only my wife.”
> 
> My heart thumped. He brought out so many feelings in me, and none of them were easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that the end of this chapter is slightly spicier than normal (and the next one will be _even spicier_ ). Proceed accordingly!
> 
> Graphic for chapter 17 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/631788049353883648/this-is-cheery-i-sighed-shaking-him-off-do).

I didn’t see much of the Darkling for about a week. I told myself I was busy, but the truth was I was avoiding him. Not that it was hard. I had an entire palace to hide in, and he was busy with his own matters of state. My stomach roiled whenever I thought of the way he’d talked in Polvost, of what he would do to cling to power. I should have come down harder on him for that.

My life was full of comfortable lies, easy to swallow. That I was just busy. That our kiss had been just a product of my loneliness, a necessary physical release. That I wasn’t complicit. That I could negate whatever evil the Darkling did by working to build schools and villages and hospitals, by helping feed and clothe people, by revising the taxation system that leeched their income away — although of course I had to rely on other minds than mine for advice on how to do those things.

Maybe the last one was true. Maybe I could balance the scales. But when I lay awake at night, exhausted after a day of _doing_ with the awareness that there was always more to do, I wondered if I really had found my place or if I just desperately wanted to fit somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Of course, the Darkling didn’t leave me alone forever. Eventually, he sent a palace servant to ask me to join him for breakfast, and I donned a dressing gown of blue silk brocade and went.

I found him at the table of his small private dining room, frowning over intelligence reports, his hair slightly unkempt, like he’d only run his fingers through it before sitting down at the table. What I’d merely endured before now seemed unbearably intimate. My eyes kept finding the triangle of pale skin framed by the lapels of his robe, not too exposed but enough to make my mind ask questions. I reminded myself that I’d already seen him half naked, fresh from a bath. Somehow, that didn’t help.

“Alina,” he said, setting his papers aside. “Please, sit.”

“‘Please’ today?” I asked, sitting down in the chair the palace servant pulled out for me. “Do you want something or are you just feeling polite?”

He gave me one of his enigmatic half-smiles. “I only want the answer to a single question.”

I sipped from a glass of freshly-poured tea and hoped the question wasn’t when I planned to kiss him again.

“You haven’t visited the Little Palace,” he said. “Why not?”

I wasn’t expecting that to be the question. I hugged my arms to my chest, pretending the winter cold had seeped in from outside, that it bothered me, even though fires roared in every grate. “Too many memories,” I said.

What I meant was _too many ghosts_. Giggling Etherealki cliques, swaggering Corporalki, Fabrikators hard at work, and the Tailor who’d stood apart from them, who’d embraced me as a friend even if she’d had hidden motivations. I didn’t want to walk those halls constantly looking for them and finding only disappointment.

“I was planning on walking the grounds this morning,” he said.

“An inspection?”

“Just a walk. I thought you should join me.”

 _Should, not might_. “I’m very busy,” I said. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. I thought I knew what he was doing. He’d said it just the other day: _When you live as long as we do, there is nothing to gain by avoiding ghosts_.

“You can make yourself available.”

“I was going to meet with Natalia and discuss the seating arrangements for the centennial’s opening banquet.” I helped myself to some porridge. “Did you know that the Kerch and the Zemeni don’t get along? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a thing before.”

“Naval squabbles,” he said dismissively. “The Kerch still have their banks, but they’re less of a threat. If you have to seat anyone closer to us, the Zemeni are more important allies. They and the Fjerdans are in a race to—” He sat back. “Never mind.”

I paused with a spoonful of porridge halfway to my mouth, remembering what he’d said on the train. “The weapon you were talking about?”

“I don’t want to burden you with that which you can’t unknow.” He sighed. “If you understood the threat we were facing, Alina…”

A chill descended over the room. “You said a weapon with the power of the Fold.”

“I meant it. A weapon that will blight what it touches, render the land impossible to inhabit, impossible to farm. Taint the water. Sicken the people.” He looked genuinely troubled, which frightened me even more than what he was saying. “We have some time before it’s ready. The last Fjerdan test failed, and I’ve installed saboteurs to make sure they keep failing. But they won’t fail forever.”

I shivered. I didn’t like foreign powers having a weapon like that. In fact, I probably liked the thought of it just as much as the Shu and the Fjerdans liked the thought of the Fold.

“So long as the Fold remains, we can negotiate a truce,” he said gently, as if following my thoughts. “I know you think it’s a curse, I know you hate me for wielding it, but it’s the best deterrent we have.”

My fear was cut through with the sickening thought that, for once, in the face of desperate odds, he might be right. I sat back in my chair. “A walk around the Little Palace sounds great.”

“Yes.” He turned his head to look out the window. The day was grey, and fresh snow had fallen overnight; it still spilled out in flurries, as if there was too much for the clouds to hold. In profile, with his faraway gaze and his faint scars, the Darkling looked almost vulnerable. “I thought so too.”

* * *

We walked to the Little Palace with no escort. We were in the heart of the Darkling’s kingdom, and trying to attack us as we followed the path through the palace grounds would be suicide. There was quiet between us as we made our way under the canopy of twisting branches, bare of leaves but still thick enough to blot out the sun.

When we emerged from the trees, we paused, looking down the slope to where the Little Palace waited, all elaborate carvings and golden domes. The Little Palace stood for five hundred years before I ever saw it, under the control of the same Darkling who was beside me now. I didn’t expect it to have changed much in the last century, and it hadn’t, at least on the outside.

“What do you feel when you look at it?” I asked him quietly. “Pride?”

“Yes, pride. I carved out a place for the Grisha in Ravka where there was none before. But also a sense that our work will never be done.”

 _Our_ work. I didn’t know how to tell him that his work wasn’t mine. Of course I also wanted to see the Grisha safe — I was one of them — but it couldn’t be all. “How much blood was spilled to create your perfect world?”

He scoffed. “You’re talking about _otkazat'sya_ blood.”

“Blood is blood,” I said quietly. “And Grisha blood was spilled too.”

He avoided the question. “You’ve no idea how much you have to thank me for,” he mused instead, stroking his fingers lightly up and down my arm. I was grateful for my thick wool _kefta_ , for his gloves, but my skin prickled like he’d touched me. “You have no idea how much I’ve shielded you from.”

“You’ve also been directly responsible for most of my suffering,” I pointed out. “I think it evens out.”

He ignored me, continuing to trace patterns on my sleeve. “Upon discovering your power, they might have had you burned,” he said. “Or beheaded.”

“This is cheery,” I sighed, shaking him off and rubbing my arm, like it had fallen asleep and I was trying to restart the circulation. “Do you talk to all of the girls you chase this way?”

“Only my wife.”

My heart thumped. He brought out so many feelings in me, and none of them were easy.

“Look there,” he said, nodding toward the lake.

I followed his eyes. He was looking beyond the Little Palace. At first I got distracted, trying to pick out the path that once led to Baghra’s hut, but among the trees there was a flicker of flame, then another. I froze, thinking the dragon had come back, but then I remembered the lake, the Summoners’ pavilions, and relaxed. Just some Inferni, flaunting their powers in the snow.

“Shall we watch them?” the Darkling asked me.

Although my gloves and boots kept me warm, my face was already beginning to get cold. But I was grateful for the cold. Today it was helping me keep my head around him. So I nodded and pulled my collar a little higher, letting the fur tickle my cheeks, and we continued down the path together, skirting the Little Palace for the moment to make our way to the lake.

The Etherealki were out in force in their blue _kefta_. These were the students in their extra years of study, sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen. Some kept to the shelter of the pavilions, which had been swept clear of snow, but others, taking advantage of the quiet of the grounds, fanned out toward the trees, or skated on the frozen lake. Most of them were showing off in some way, shaking branches with sudden gusts of wind, forming and tossing snowballs without touching them, sending up great bursts of flame.

 _They look so young_ , I thought. They were about the same age that I remembered being, but already I felt a world apart from them — they seemed like children at play, still testing their powers. Most of them probably hadn’t seen war yet.

Out on the lake, an Inferni used a jet of flame to melt a perfect circular hole in the thick ice. Her Tidemaker friend then pulled a massive jet of water out of the lake, which a Squaller immediately hit with a blast of cold air, freezing it in place. They laughed among themselves, congratulating each other on their abstract sculpture before skating off to make another. My heart ached. Part of me still wanted to be among them, laughing too.

Then we were spotted, and the entire scene chilled like it, too, had been caught up in the frigid gust of wind. One of the Etherealki put his fingers in his mouth and produced a piercing whistle that almost made me clap my hands over my ears. They all rallied toward the pavilion save the trio on the ice, who were too far away to notice what was going on until another Squaller sent a gust of wind to knock their hats off. Affronted, they finally turned around, only to quickly pick up their hats and skate as fast as they could to join their fellows.

At last they all stood in even rows, hands raised in salute, until the Darkling waved his hand and said, “At ease.”

The Etherealki relaxed. “ _Moi soverenye_ ,” said the boy who had whistled for his peers with a crisp bow. He was well over six feet tall and blond, with a slight Fjerdan edge to his vowels. The assembled Etherealki were truly an international coalition. I saw Fjerdan, Shu, Kaelish and Zemeni features among their ranks in addition to typically Ravkan faces. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Alina and I were walking the grounds.”

I was so busy studying the group that I nearly jumped when he said my name. “We thought we’d admire your ice sculptures,” I added.

There were flattered titters from the improvisational sculptors. I noticed the way they looked at the Darkling: with that omnipresent fear, yes, but also naked admiration, respect. Even the Grisha who’d traveled in our party, the loyal fighters who’d engaged the dragon, had been more on their guard around him. But these young Grisha, handpicked for extra schooling, had only known the Darkling as a valued leader, maybe even a savior. They might have heard whispers of his cruel nature, but seeing is believing, and they hadn’t seen the truth of him yet.

To my surprise, the Darkling turned to me. “Well, Alina,” he said, removing one glove, then the other, “should we show them what true power looks like?”

“Why not?” I said, trying to sound casual. I had no idea what he had in mind.

But the trick he had in mind was old. He clasped his hands together and, with a crack like thunder, darkness poured out from between them, blanketing us and the young Etherealki, blotting out the grey sky, the gleaming snow, the pavilions, the lake. I heard gasps from a couple of the girls, and could almost imagine the Darkling shaking his head at their lack of discipline. I decided to end their misery and put up my own hands to send a beam of light shooting out across the lake, illuminating its shining surface. Then I threw my arms wider to expand the beam until the darkness was vanquished and there was nothing but light.

I dropped my hands, and the Darkling dropped his. The Etherealki murmured and politely applauded, but the wonder shining in their faces spoke volumes. The Darkling and I were two of a kind, equals and opposites.

We spent a little more time showing off for them. The Darkling seemed to be enjoying himself, and I had to admit that it was nice to be admired. He sent up ribbons of darkness, and I wove beams of light between them. He conjured black spheres and sent them to hover over the lake, and I pierced each one with glowing daggers of light, like I was shooting clay pigeons.

At last he turned to me and said, “Some friendly competition?”

“I—” I began, but then he flicked his wrist and sent a skein of darkness toward me.

The first I sliced through with light, and the second, but he began sending them out faster, and I stumbled back. I cast a sphere of light to shield myself and the darkness writhed outside it, probing for weaknesses. Soon I could no longer see anything beyond my bubble. It was also growing hot. The snow began to melt beneath my feet.

I couldn’t stay here. I had to change tactics. Abruptly, I pulled the light in and reflected it away from me instead. I stepped back, watching the darkness converge on the spot where I had stood. Since I was no longer there, the Darkling reeled it back.

“Alina,” he said, voice ringing out over the scene, “is demonstrating the importance of flexibility in battle.”

I began sprinting toward the cover of one of the pavilions, the sound of snow crunching under my boots loud in my ears. I heard him say, “But you must always take your surroundings into account.”

Suddenly walls of darkness rose before me, boxing me in on all sides. I stopped before running into them, all of my natural instincts rebelling even though I knew it was intangible. Of course he could tell where I was going. Even though I was invisible, he could track my footprints in the snow.

Time to change tactics again, then.

I looked behind myself and cast a wide beam of light straight into the snow. It reflected off the thousands of tiny ice crystals, into the icicles on the trees, temporarily blinding everyone who had the misfortune of looking directly at it. The Etherealki cringed against it, and even the Darkling put a hand up in front of his face. My dark cage wavered.

Taking advantage of the distraction, I dove through it, and toward him.

It had been a good few months since I last trained with Botkin, but I remembered enough. More than enough — I guess I had practiced in the long span of time I couldn’t recall. The body always knows. I aimed for him with a passable punch, which he easily dodged, like he, too, was nothing more than a shadow. He grabbed for me, but I used my momentum to slip past, aiming an elbow at his kidney which he sidestepped again. Then his foot hooked my ankle.

I went facedown, hard, into the snow.

Immediately, I rolled onto my back, panting, my cheeks stinging from the cold and from shame. The students applauded again. I could hear the Darkling saying something about the importance of marrying physical training to our summoning, but it barely registered.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. I forgot who I was with. I was just the peasant girl playing on the grounds of Keramzin, determined not to let the bigger, stronger boys gloat in victory.

My snowball struck him square in the back of the head.

Everything went dead silent again. Even the winter breeze that had been weaving through the trees died. The Darkling turned on me, and I thought he’d be angry at me for embarrassing him in front of the other Grisha. But although there was a flicker of anger, he looked curious, and faintly amused. He simply brought a hand up to the back of his neck, wiped the snow away, and said, “That’s what I get for turning my back on a worthy opponent.”

The Etherealki giggled. When he helped me up from the snow, I thought I heard one of the girls sigh wistfully.

“Is that the last lesson?” I asked.

“The last lesson,” he said, “is that even when I think there is no more to learn, I am sometimes proven wrong.”

He held my gaze. There was so much heat behind his grey eyes I was surprised the lake didn’t melt.

Then he said to the Etherealki, “As you were. Keep practicing. Make Ravka proud.” _Make me proud_.

They saluted again and began to disperse. The Darkling murmured dangerously, “Let’s get somewhere dry. I’ve had my fill of snow.”

I couldn’t agree more. My _kefta_ might be able to stop a bullet, but this one was not waterproof, which seemed like a major design flaw. My hair was wet and plastering itself to my face; I could almost feel it freezing. There was snow in my eyelashes. Even though I had put my gloves back on, my hands were numb inside of them. My only consolation was that some snow had probably gotten down the back of the Darkling’s _kefta_ as well.

We walked up to the Little Palace, and I almost felt like I should lean on him for warmth, but refrained. I thought back to the admiration of the Etherealki, that one girl’s sigh. “The girls still look at you the same way,” I remarked, trying to ignore the stab in my belly. “Some of the boys, too.”

“In a way, I am a father to all of them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not familial affection.”

He gave me one of his half-smiles. “What about how the boys look at you?”

“No, they _don’t_ ,” I scoffed.

“Some of the girls, too.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He ran a gloved hand through his hair, which, I was pleased to see, was also wet. “They only do it when they think you’re not looking. And when they hope I’m not looking.”

That was patently ridiculous, so I ignored it. “Have you ever taken a mistress? There are a lot of pretty—”

“No,” he said sharply.

“Not in a hundred years?”

“No, Alina.”

I shrugged, although something in me thrilled at his tone. “Maybe you should. It’d take some of the pressure off me.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Mistresses are for tsars. I served the Lantsovs for five hundred years and I know of only three who did not take one. Or several. Oh, yes,” he said to my shocked face. “Even the pious kings. Queens had their paramours, too. Royals seldom marry for love, so they seek comfort elsewhere. But the Lantsovs were soft. They were weak.”

I snorted. “So this is you demonstrating incredible self-restraint?”

The Darkling was quiet for a moment. We were nearing the Little Palace now. I could make out the carvings on the walls, the mother-of-pearl inlay that caught the weak winter light.

“When you live as long as I have,” he said at last, “many things lose their appeal. My youth was eventful, but that was over a millennium ago. Assignations don’t offer much excitement. Sex in general…” He shrugged. “After the sheen wore off, it seemed like more trouble than it was worth. I would indulge — every creature needs touch, whatever form that takes. And people are drawn to power. I was so desired that I never lacked options. But I so rarely _crave_. Whatever drives men to take mistresses, I shed it long ago.”

“So do you—” I began, but we came to one of the Little Palace’s side entrances, and I stopped when a servant opened the door for us. Immediately, I felt a rush of warm air and was thankful to be inside.

It was a very short walk through an empty corridor to the Darkling’s old chambers. There were fires going here, even though they were deserted but for a couple of _oprichniki_ who stood guard. The Darkling must have made his intent to visit known.

“Do you come back here?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “The war room is still the most secure place on the grounds. If I’m here late conferring with representatives from the Grisha orders, I’ll sleep in this room.”

“Or if I’m very cross with you,” I joked.

His mouth pressed into a grim line. “Or then.”

He slid open the door to his bedroom. It was a dark chamber, even with the fire blazing in the hearth. The lamps had been lit, but turned down low. A forest had been carved by skilled hands out of the dark wood walls. I was ashamed to admit that my eyes immediately found the extravagant canopied bed and made myself look away. I was far too cold to entertain any thoughts of lovemaking, but that didn’t seem to discourage me.

Pushing it all aside, I settled myself in front of the fire, sitting on a woven black rug instead of in any chair, and plucked off my gloves, began to unlace my boots. Living in a warm palace for months had definitely reduced my tolerance for being chilly and wet. “ _Saints_ , I’m cold,” I muttered under my breath, following it up with a few swears that were definitely not appropriate for the reigning queen of Ravka.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Darkling raise a critical brow.

“I was in the army,” I said, shoving my boots aside and pulling off my socks. Somehow they, too, had gotten wet.

“I can send for a fresh _kefta_. Fresh socks.”

“Don’t worry.” I stood, shed my _kefta_ , and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. “It’ll dry out.”

He nodded, then closed the door and came to join me, sitting beside me on the rug, beginning to shed his own layers. I realized irritably that my shirt was also damp, but I wasn’t about to take that off in front of him. I opened my hands to the fire and gave a contented sigh.

“What was the point of that?” I asked. “Did you want to embarrass me in front of the Etherealki?”

The Darkling blinked. “Embarrass you? You handled yourself well.”

“I ate snow.”

“All they’ll remember is the way you vanished before their very eyes,” he said, “and that I made the sky disappear. There is no one else like us, Alina, so we impress easily.”

They’d also remember the way the Darkling helped me up out of the snow, the way his hands had lingered on mine, the blazing fire in his gaze. _The might of the country depends on the strength of its rulers and their union._

I thought of the question I had wanted to ask him before we went inside. _Do you want me, or is this just a game?_ But that was the wrong question, because both things could be true. He might well want me — from what I felt through our connection, he _did_. And he could still be playing with me.

“You’re angry with me now,” he said quietly.

“I’m always angry with you,” I admitted. “But today you embarrassed me.”

“You threw snow at me. That evened the score.” He gave me a baleful look. “You know anyone else would have lost their head for that.”

“Just because you overreact to minor insults—”

“Luckily for you,” he murmured, reaching for my face with an ungloved hand, “I like your head where it is.”

His _kefta_ was gone, and he seemed strangely naked without it. His hands were only a little warmer than mine, but I leaned into his palm anyway, luxuriating in the way his power mingled with mine. From this angle, I was looking up at him through my lashes, which was how you were _supposed_ to flirt. It had never felt natural to me before. The anger I held liquefied within me and became something else entirely.

“Your hands are cold,” I whispered.

“There’s a trick for warming them,” he replied. He slipped his other hand under the hem of my shirt and rested it against my waist, and I squeaked, both at the contact and at the sharp difference in temperature. But sure enough, after a short time, his hands didn’t feel cold anymore.

I managed, “They’re warm now.”

He replied by combing his hand through my wet hair, watching me like I might vanish if he took his eyes away for a single second. I felt overheated in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.

I was in enemy territory, but when he gripped my waist and drew me closer, I didn’t resist. His mouth found my neck, trailing up to the skin just under my jaw. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, extremely conscious of my still-cold hands and all my other imperfections. When his other hand joined the first under my shirt, and then both of his hands found my breasts, I nearly squeaked again and managed to turn it into a kind of breathy huff, muffled by his skin.

This was not like being drunkenly pawed at, the only experience I had at all comparable to what was happening now. _That I remembered_. The Darkling was extremely sober and knew exactly what he was doing, how to touch, how to caress, how to wickedly pinch to make me groan into his neck. I kind of hated him more for that knowledge, but the hate just melted and pooled with the molten anger down in my lower belly, heat I couldn't ignore. I squeezed my eyes against it and clung to him as he touched me.

It was almost worse when he stopped touching me, because unbearable need came rushing in to fill the void. He tugged at the bottom of my shirt. “This comes off,” he said.

My shirt was damp anyway.

As soon I’d pulled it over my head, he pushed me back against the rug. The floor was not soft and yielding like the bed would be, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I watched with fascination as he removed his own shirt, captured by the way the firelight flickered across the muscles of his arms, his chest. But when he moved to also unbutton his trousers, panic slammed into me like a wave and I reached out to stop him.

He must have felt my dismay as well as seen it, because he paused and gave me a quizzical look. I just shook my head. I couldn’t find the words for what I wanted or didn’t want, but there had to be a middle ground.

The Darkling had the benefit of an extra century of knowing me, an extra half-century of loving me. He gave me the barest nod, although I felt a wisp of selfish annoyance rise in him like smoke. But it dispersed, and he laid himself out on top of me, his hips between my thighs, his bare torso pressing against mine. Hungrily, I kissed him, relishing the closeness. I ran my hands through his damp hair, smoothed them down and over his shoulders, feeling the fire-warmed skin of his back. He returned my kisses, his arms tightening around me. My back arched off the floor as I tried to get closer.

Then he picked up his hips so he could slide his hand into the thick leggings I’d worn under my _kefta_ that day, and my eyes flew open. He didn’t even need to look. His eyes were closed as he continued to kiss me. After a moment, mine closed again too.

The unfairness of the situation washed over me even as pleasure did. It was unfair that he could do this without looking. It was unfair that he had a millennium of experience on me and decades of experience _with_ me. It was unfair that I did not remember how to navigate his body the way he navigated mine.

The worst unfairness was that he had a violinist’s hands, hands that played me like any other piece, hands that drew a song out of me which, in a just world, would not have been for his ears at all.

But our world was not just. To him, I was always another beautiful instrument. For him, I sang like a bird.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t sleep.”
> 
> His lips quirked. “Were you hoping for another private concert? The fiddle is in the music room, I’m afraid, but I can get it.”
> 
> “No, don’t worry.” I exhaled. “I was thinking you could help another way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that this fic is rated Mature and this chapter is a big part of why. 😉
> 
> Graphic for chapter 18 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/631970574835515392/i-cant-sleep-his-lips-quirked-were-you).

The monster was not happy with me.

When I carried my dinner down into the cellar that evening, he immediately sunk into a low crouch, ready to spring on an unseen enemy. Then he _snarled_ , lips pulling back from his black fangs. I was used to him sometimes growling in impatience, out of gnawing hunger for the meat I brought. This wasn’t that. The realization of what it was sank like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s just me,” I said, putting the tray down and holding up my hands so he could see that they were empty, then stepping aside to show him there was no one behind me. “Okay? You smell him, but it’s just me.”

The monster growled again, but sat down, further back from the bars than usual. He only approached to take my offering of roast duck, and even then he crept forward cautiously, snatching his meal and then settling a safe distance away.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” I asked.

To my surprise, the monster snorted.

“Well, we’re agreed on that,” I said, unconvincingly. “Most of the time.”

I looked at the rest of my dinner tray. The monster’s reaction had quashed my hunger — I felt enough shame without his help — but I knew I needed to eat, so I picked up my bowl of soup and drank it down. It wasn’t like my companion cared about manners. In that eternal paradox, eating awakened the rest of my appetite, and I used bread to sop up the dregs.

It was strange that the monster’s response now differed from when I’d returned from Kribirsk. Hadn’t he smelled the Darkling on me then, too? But then it seemed like he’d wanted _out_. Now it seemed like he just wanted _away_.

“What did he do to you?” I wondered aloud. “Besides put you in a cage.” There was no response other than the noise of chewing, the snapping of bones. I remembered the sketch I’d seen, drawn by my own hand, of that face that looked so much like the monster’s. “Were you human? Did he curse you?”

The chewing stopped. Then I heard claws click on stone as the monster padded over to me and flopped down in his usual spot at my back.

“But that’s ridiculous,” I said, looking back at him over my shoulder. “The Darkling can’t— curse people. There are limits to Grisha power, even his.”

The monster lay half on his side, his head resting on one of his arms. Aside from the dark twin voids of his eyes, his claws, the wings sprouting from his back, he looked very human indeed. He let out a low grumble, as if to say, _Shows what you know_.

And he was right. I knew the Darkling dabbled in _merzost_. I shouldn’t limit my imagination. What he could do. What he was _willing_ to do. How far he would go.

I had brought a book down to read that was not my biography, but I didn’t reach for it. I once again feared what I’d find. It could be a dull chapter on reforms, but it could also be massacres painted with the historical veneer of necessity. I didn’t want to remind myself of exactly what kind of man I’d bent to.

The kiss hadn’t stung this much, but I’d kissed him before. What I hadn’t ever done was let him inside of me, our strange emotional bond notwithstanding. It had only been fingers, but I was forced to confront the queasy thought that that probably still counted. And even now, when I thought about it, I found myself flooded with shameful heat. I couldn’t afford to remember the way his body had fit against mine, his soft, sinister mouth, how, after it was all over but before the shame set in, he pressed his fingers against my lips, and I had let him in again, to rest them against my tongue—

Something sharp poked me in the back. The monster had stuck one of his claws through the bars.

“Ow!” I yelped, then shook myself all over. “No, you’re right.”

My body felt so heavy, the memory of the Darkling’s touch weighing me down. For once, I joined the monster on the filthy floor, pillowing my face on my arm as he did. We blinked at each other through the bars.

“What did you do?” I whispered, to him, to myself. “What could you possibly have done to deserve this fate?”

He said nothing, of course. His black eyes made it difficult to tell what his expression was, but I thought he just looked sad. I put my hand over the claw that poked out from the bars, careful not to get too close to his mouth, those sharp teeth.

I didn’t know if I could help him, but I could at least be there. And he might be silently judging me, but he couldn’t outright scold me for my transgressions. It was a relief.

Eventually, I did sit up and take the book out of my pocket. I needed to face my demons, even the ones without wings and teeth. So I read long into the night, sitting up with the monster who might be a man, as I tried to learn more about my husband, the man who was definitely a monster.

* * *

The reaction from Natalia the next morning was not much better, even if it was the opposite one. “You look very well-rested,” she said, trying for delicacy as she sat me down in front of my mirror. “Did you have a good night?”

“I guess I—” I stopped. I had been up late last night, and now that I saw myself in front of the mirror I definitely did _not_ look well-rested. There were dark smudges under my eyes, fainter than they used to be but there all the same. My hair was a stringy tangle. She was asking me a very different question.

I hid my face in my hands and groaned.

“Alina, I— I need to do your eyes,” she stammered.

I lowered my hands and looked at our reflections. Natalia’s cheeks had darkened, and she did not meet my eyes in the mirror, but she was as professional as ever, gently touching my undereyes. There was a prickle, and the circles began to lighten.

“Thanks for telling me,” I said. My face was pink too, and it wasn’t due to any Tailoring. “I thought _oprichniki_ are supposed to be discreet. They were the only people outside the Darkling’s chambers when we went in.”

“They are,” Natalia said. “But he’d sent for tea, and the servant who arrived after, um.” She paused, and took her hands away from my brightened skin, moving to the impossible knots in my hair, which she gently coaxed apart using only her fingers. “Well, she heard something.”

I sighed. “So the entire palace knows?”

“Yes. At least all of the servants do,” she amended. “Gossip travels fast. But most of the ministers aren’t in the habit of chatting with the people who bring them breakfast, so they won’t know for a while.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t know how I’d look Meletsky in the eye.” I was supposed to have lunch with the Minister of Agriculture that day. Once word that I was entertaining in my suites had gotten out, I had proved to be bafflingly popular, and now all sorts of people were clamoring for invitations. Then again, if I had the chance to dine with an immortal Grisha queen who was also a living Saint, I guess I’d take it. It was just surreal that said queen was _me_.

“Everyone thinks it’s good news,” Natalia assured me. “I guess you don’t need to have children, since you live so long, but people are used to hoping for heirs. And they like knowing you’re, um, getting along.”

 _Heirs_. Internally, I thanked every single Saint that I could name that the Darkling and I had done nothing that could result in children. “The strength of the nation and all that?”

“And it puts him in a better mood.”

I imagined the life of a palace servant meant carefully tracking the Darkling’s moods, so I understood the relief. Desperate to change the subject, I asked, “Do you have anyone special, Natalia?”

Natalia briefly met my eyes in the mirror, then busied herself with my hair. “No, I don’t.”

“What?” I craned my head back to try to look at her impossibly beautiful face. She was painfully symmetrical. “Really? Has all of Os Alta gone blind?”

“Stay still, please,” she said softly, pushing my head forward again. “And it isn’t that. My proximity to you is… my position is such that…”

“Because you have direct access to us, you don’t want to endanger anyone by getting too close?” I was hit by a sudden memory: the glint of a Fjerdan blade, held above my head. “Are you worried about assassins? Or spies?”

Natalia swallowed, but her hands never stopped moving. My hair was now shiny, silky waves that tumbled over my shoulders.“One time an assassin, a radical, got onto the palace grounds,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “He was caught. The Darkling had his family brought to the throne room. He— it was horrible, the way they died. Necessary, of course,” she added, out of obligation. “He let the assassin live. Exiled him to Tsibeya. But…” She trailed off.

 _But what kind of life was that_? I knew what it was like to watch people you love die in front of you, to carry the terrible knowledge that it was your fault. I thought I had understood, but it turned out I hadn’t at all. “Oh,” I said dully, feeling painfully naive. “And you worry about _your_ family?”

“Friends, outside of the Little Palace. Like my family.” She busied herself with pinning up my hair. “A lover would be worse.”

“But you’re loyal, aren’t you? To him, I mean. Why would—”

“Of course I am,” she said quietly, with a fierceness in her voice. “He’s like a father to me. But he likes his insurance, especially since I’m so close to you.”

“Since you tell him my secrets.” Her ever-busy hands froze, but I only leaned back in my chair. I’d always known, and it was a relief to speak it aloud, although it also felt like twisting a knife in my gut. I liked Natalia.

Natalia nodded, then nodded again. She rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Do what you have to,” I said, and I reached up to catch one of her wrists and squeeze it. I had never touched her like that before, and she nearly startled. “Don’t ever feel guilt over that. I don’t have very many secrets these days anyway.”

She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, but she said nothing. I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t in any position to comfort her. I took my hand away. “Natalia,” I said, steering the conversation to smoother waters one more time, “we need to figure out the menu for the second banquet this morning.”

“Yes,” she said, putting the final pin in my hair. She sounded happy to be talking about anything else. And in truth, she was invaluable for this. The knack for listening that allowed her to collect secrets and palace gossip served me well, too. “I hear the Kaelish ambassador loves quail…”

* * *

At the end of another very long day, I dismissed my attendants and ran my own warm bath, dumping in a little too much of the concoction that made foamy bubbles in different colors. Tonight, they were light pink and smelled like vanilla. I sighed when I slid into them. Somehow I always ended up with aches and cramps of mysterious origin by nightfall. I might not look old, but I was starting to feel old.

I had insisted on being alone so that I could try to touch myself without anyone else’s help. The memory of the Darkling’s touch plagued me the entire day. I had drifted while Natalia and I discussed dessert options and pulled myself back by remembering how he’d decimated Novokribirsk, how he had made me help him. I found myself thinking about it again as Meletsky went on at lunch, clearly charmed by the sound of his own voice, and forced myself to remember him ordering Mal thrown to the volcra as I squeezed my thighs together under the table.

There was no way I could continue to rely on the Darkling for gratification, for so many reasons. The last twenty-four hours or so had been full of persuasive reminders.

But as soon as my hand slid under the water, I felt foolish for trying. I had about as much experience with myself as I did with other people, little but not none. I had rarely had sleeping arrangements that were _not_ communal, which, in fairness, never stopped anyone, just made discretion paramount. The bigger problem was that, sick from suppressing my power, I was constantly tired and didn’t have much of a sex drive. In rare moments of solitude, I had thought about Mal but only embarrassed myself by wishing — it seemed likelier that I would catch a shooting star in my bare hands than ever have my feelings reciprocated.

How had the Darkling done it so easily? It wasn’t right that he knew my body better than I did. But after a few minutes of frustratedly feeling around with almost no result, I decided it would be more dignified to simply sink into the bubbles and stay in the water until the bath turned cold.

Afterward, I pulled on my nightdress and sat by the fire, hoping I would feel drowsy enough to sleep. But I just kept looking at the door between our rooms and thinking about how he was on the other side of it. I could feel him, too, across our tether. If I wasn’t careful, I would probably leap across the bond and right into his arms.

“Fine,” I muttered to myself. “The least I can do is go on the offensive.” I unfolded my legs and stood up. I was stuck with a husband who was, frankly, terrible and cruel, no matter how many quiet words he spoke to me or how he looked at me. But he was also beautiful and good with his hands. No one could fault me for using him for that.

At least, I hoped not.

I checked myself in the mirror. I had put on weight since waking from my coma, but I would always be scrawny. My legs were skinny things poking out from my white nightdress, my breasts barely there, my face always a little too hollow. There was a brightness in my eyes that at least proved I wasn’t a corpse, and my hair… there was no helping my ghostly hair, although it shone like moonlight from Natalia’s treatments and looked healthy now that I was using my powers again regularly. I knew why the Darkling wanted _me_ , but I had no idea why he wanted my body. I guess it was enough to know that he did.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I crossed to the door separating our adjoining rooms, and knocked.

“Yes?” he called.

I cracked the door open. The lights were all out save one dimmed lamp and the low fire. The Darkling was sitting at a small table in front of his fireplace, reviewing papers. Maybe a report from the front, maybe the draft of a new law. Whatever it was I did not truly know, because he had deemed it none of my concern.

Shaking off my resentment, I asked, “Are you busy?”

He made a vague gesture with the pen. He was wearing his dressing gown. “As ever. Is something wrong?”

That wasn’t a rejection, so I slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind me. Leaning against it, my hands behind my back, I said, “I can’t sleep.”

His lips quirked. “Were you hoping for another private concert? The fiddle is in the music room, I’m afraid, but I can get it.”

“No, don’t worry.” I exhaled. “I was thinking you could help another way.”

The Darkling put his pen down. “What is this,” he said, voice strangely angry and suspicious, no amusement anywhere on his face.

I blinked. “What?”

“If this is some trick—”

“No trick.”

“Show me your hands, Alina,” he barked.

I held up my empty hands. I hoped my confusion showed clearly on my face, that it passed through the bond between us, because I certainly felt it. I reached for him and felt his desire tempered by caution, fury, confusion of his own.

“I’m not here to try to kill you,” I said slowly. “You said yourself that I don’t know how.”

He drew his fingers back through his hair. The shadows in the corners of the room flickered menacingly. “Then you’re mocking me.”

“ _No_ , _moi_ — _Saints_ , why don’t you have a _name_?” This had been a terrible idea. I turned to retreat to the sanctuary of my room. “Forget it. Good night.”

“Wait.”

“This was a mistake.”

I heard him stand from his chair. “I was surprised. I thought you’d be wrestling with your guilt for at least another week.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“You hate the things I’ve done to take power and keep it. You forget that Ravka has only ever had a long line of cruel masters.” He spoke quietly, his cool voice coaxing me back. “You take on my sins as your own because you want me. You punish yourself for what I do.” A pause. “If it’s any consolation, people have compromised their morals for less.”

Counting out three seconds in my head, I took a deep breath, then turned around. There was still a good distance between where I was by the door and where he stood. “I have work to do too, you know. I can’t get it done if I’m thinking about you all day. So I figured I’d just—” I saw his eyes widen before he smoothed his face into a neutral expression again, felt a flare of surprise quickly doused. “What?”

“You figured?”

Comprehension dawned. “You were thinking of _me_ ,” I said. “All day, when I kept feeling flashes— that was _you_?”

“You compounded it,” he said. He sounded almost angry again. “I was at the edge of your mind already if a few errant thoughts tipped you into distraction.”

I took a step away from the door. “You hate this, don’t you? You told me once that wanting makes us weak.” I felt a shiver of satisfaction — distinctly my own — and moved closer. “You can’t stand it.”

He shrugged, such a loose, normal, _mortal_ gesture. “I get everything I want, and the price is a dagger in my side. I can pay it.”

I took one more step, another, until I was standing before him. “Not everything,” I whispered. “Not yet.”

His hands curled into fists at his side. He did not want to reach for me. “Careful, Alina,” he said quietly. “Ever since you’ve awoken, your defiance renewed, you’ve lived at the mercy of my restraint.”

“That’s a funny thing to call ‘self-loathing,’” I murmured, like I was saying something intimate. And I was. I was peeling his layers, making him show me parts of him he didn’t want seen by anyone. “But fine. Let’s test that restraint.”

I turned away from him, feeling a thrill of nervousness that showing him my back might be the wrong move, but he did nothing. Only when I went over and sat on the end of his bed did I hear him inhale. In the firelight, he looked deathly pale. I felt across our invisible bond. I was arousing his anger again, but that wasn’t all.

“You can’t have me in the way that you want,” I said. “I will cut you down. Even if you won’t die, it’ll hurt.” I shifted my knees slightly apart; I wasn’t yet brazen enough to spread my legs. But it worked. His fists clenched tighter.

“Then what do you want?” he asked.

“I want you to get creative.”

He didn’t need to know that I still couldn’t find the words for what I wanted, just that it was _him_ , but that wanting sat uneasily with me too. So I wanted to watch him struggle. He, too, could suffer.

The Darkling took a second to compose himself, squaring his shoulders. Then he strode to the bed to stand between my legs. I looked up at him, but I didn’t cede an inch of ground, planting my hands on his duvet. He curled his forefinger under my chin and pressed his thumb against it, tilting my head up further.

“Alina,” he said, his voice like a cool spring rain, “ _moya solnishka_ , do you want me on my knees? Is a nation of devoted worshippers not enough for you?”

I kept my steady gaze on his eyes, their grey like the fog shrouding distant mountain peaks. I couldn’t pretend to know exactly what was in his head. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

“Very well,” he said at last, and to my great surprise, he knelt down in front of me without any more complaint. Part of me always expected his touch to be cold, but he ran fire-warmed hands up my thighs, then back down. By now, he had to have noticed that I hadn’t worn anything _under_ my nightdress. There didn’t seem to be much point. When his lips parted, it was hunger I saw written in the lines of his beautiful face.

Then he bent his head to the task, the fire casting a sheen on his black hair that might have been a halo if he were someone else, anyone else. His mouth, which had already told me so many pretty lies, was made for this.

Somehow I wound up on my back, my nightdress pushed up to my waist, my legs hooked over his shoulders. My hands clutched at his hair, frantic for purchase, mussing it beyond belief. He was relentless, determined to wring everything I had out of me— my punishment, I guess, for making him humble himself. When I’d had those fleeting moments of panic before at the thought of going to bed with him, I assumed he’d take and take until there was nothing left of me. Now, with his mouth, with his fingers, with the force of months of frustrated desire, he gave until I was completely overwhelmed, over and over again.

For once, I was grateful for the connection between us, because I didn’t have to tell him when I’d had enough. He just knew.

While he pressed his lips to my inner thigh, I struggled to come back to myself, surfacing from under those crushing waves of pleasure. I wondered if there was some kind of obscure law I could invoke to never have to move again. My toes tingled and my hips would probably bruise from how hard he’d clutched at me. I was completely spent. All of the frustration I’d held when I walked into his room had bled away.

Eventually he joined me on the bed, and somehow we managed to make our way up to the pillows. In the confusion, I let him tug off my nightdress, flustered when he almost _teased_ me with, “Haven’t I been a good penitent? Let me look at you.” Then I was naked but for the antler collar and sea whip scale fetter, two accessories that would always be joined with me, never to come off.

He looked at me the way dragons of legend must have looked at their hoards of gold. No one had ever looked at me that way. Then he gathered me into his arms and kissed me. I tasted salt on his lips, something musky, the same thing I tasted yesterday after I’d licked his fingers clean of me. I kissed him back, warm, sated, wanted.

Then I blinked. “You—”

“It’s nothing,” he said, smooth voice oddly husky.

That wasn’t exactly true. I could feel concrete evidence of _some_ thing against my hip.

But I was strangely gratified, my mind still clouded by pleasure. I might not remember what to do, but I wasn’t nervous. I moved up and slid my thigh between his, pressing in just a bit, giving him something more comfortable than my hip bone to rub against. The only thing separating his skin from mine was the dressing gown, which was very loosely tied. At the new friction, he gasped in my ear, and his grip tightened on my waist.

 _Oh_ , I thought, still a little dazed. He pretended to be above it, or at least more immune than I was, but sex really made _everyone_ stupid.

I shifted my thigh against him again, and he let out something between a laugh and a groan. “Alina, don’t start something you can’t stop.”

“Who said anything about stopping?” I said, surprised to find that I sounded much more confident than I felt. Before I could second-guess myself, I slid my hand down between us to touch him.

He hissed through his teeth, then reached down and wrapped his hand over mine, adjusting it a little, guiding it. “Like that,” he said, uncharacteristically breathy. We were so closely intertwined that when his eyes closed, I felt the brush of his long eyelashes against my cheek. “Just like that.”

Then he took his hand back so he could place it at the nape of my neck when he crushed his mouth to mine.

Trying to keep the pace of my hand steady as he kissed the living daylights out of me was not as easy as it seemed, but I must have managed well enough. After some feverish span of time, exactly how long I didn’t know, his kisses turned into gasps against my mouth, and he thrust his hips hard into my hand— once, twice. With another bruising kiss, it was over.

I didn’t know much, just the heat of his skin and the softness of his lips as he kissed the corner of my mouth, up my cheek, trailing kisses to my ear, down my jaw. This was gratitude, I thought, slightly stunned. With a sigh, he dropped down to the side of me and draped an arm around me to pull me closer.

A little space and time to catch my breath was what I needed to come back to my senses. I realized that there were parts of me — hand and thigh and lower belly — that were now sticky. From the way he was looking, he had definitely also noticed.

“Oh,” I breathed, groping around in the dark. My nightdress had to be somewhere, I could use that. “I can—”

“No, let me,” he said. Then he was gone from beside me, and I was left lying on my back waiting for him to return. I looked out the window, but couldn’t see the moon tonight.

He returned quickly with a hand towel from the washroom. When I reached for it, he shook his head and began to clean me off himself with surprising tenderness. I was glad for the dark. I knew my face was red.

“Is it always this messy?” I asked.

The Darkling chuckled. “Sometimes messier.”

“Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“I guess we will.” His fingers combed through my hair. He was watching me with an intensity I could not fathom until I realized I’d basically admitted I wanted to do this again.

“If you’re lucky,” I added, a beat too late.

He smiled, shedding millennia in a heartbeat, looking for all the world like a tousled, arrogant boy who finally seduced the girl he’d been chasing. “Luck will have very little to do with it.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All I wanted was a few hours to, I don’t know, get to _know_ the man I’m married to better, and you had to turn into a lesson on the nature of human interaction.”
> 
> He laughed, lightly, but there was something sorrowful in it. “Are you sure you want to know me better?”
> 
> “Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 19 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/632150595312173056/all-i-wanted-was-a-few-hours-to-i-dont-know).

I slept all night in the Darkling’s room, in the shadowed alcove of his arms, not safe, exactly, but not alone. I was surprised by how soundly I slept. I thought I would see Mal in my dreams, his frown, his disapproval, maybe his anger, but there was nothing. When I opened my eyes, a pale dawn was breaking outside of the window, and the Darkling was awake, watching me.

His head rested on the pillow next to mine, but he seemed to be cocking it, like maybe in watching me sleep he could finally make sense of me. The morning light softened the angles of his face. My eyes were drawn again to the faint scars, barely there, expertly healed. It was difficult to tell who, or what, had caused them, a knife or claws or fingernails.

“Who gave you these?” I asked drowsily, brushing his hair back from his forehead so I could trace those thin lines with my fingertips. One of them ran just past his right eye. A near miss.

He regarded me steadily, unblinking, his irises grey like the sky before a storm. “You did, Alina.”

Vindictive satisfaction rose in me even now, even when we were like this. I smiled. “Good.”

“Vicious thing,” he murmured, and, cradling my cheek in his hand, he kissed me.

It was a slow, savoring kiss, not meant to be a preamble to anything else. I melted into him. The ever-present twinge of guilt was drowned out by the rising surety his touch called from the depths of me. Grisha power was supposed to be tied to something called _the making at the heart of the world_ ; when the Darkling held me, I felt like I almost understood what that was.

He pulled back to look at me again, his thumb swiping an arc over my cheek, back and forth. “You bring out such folly in me,” he said quietly, dark brows drawing together. It seemed to almost pain him to admit it. “I would stay here with you all day if I could.”

“We make the rules,” I pointed out.

“We do,” he agreed, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “And yet we are bound by obligation. The world is relentless — it doesn’t stop turning just because we demand it.”

“Maybe we should ask another way.”

It was selfish, but I didn’t want him to go. As soon as he stopped touching me, I would stop feeling sure and start doubting. Shame would creep back in. It was the last thing I wanted. The past few months I had been certain of nothing. Right now, I felt certain of everything.

“The only way is to get ahead of the turning. That’s how we steal more time.” He drew his hand back, but his body was still warm and flush to mine. “We both have work, Alina.”

“I know,” I sighed.

“I didn’t expect you to be quite so eager to make me stay.”

I bristled. “Fine. Get out, then.”

“It’s my bed.”

“Not now. I’ve claimed it as my own.” I nudged him with my foot. “Go on, since you have so much important work to do. I’ll stay here with all the covers and the silk sheets and—” I paused, trying to give him a meaningful look. “Absolutely no clothing.”

“So I noticed,” he said, running a hand up my bare side. “A saint and a temptress. What would your devotees say if they saw you now, I wonder?”

That cracked the shell of certainty just enough to let burning shame slip in. I realized I didn’t want anyone to know how willingly I’d gone to him, how well he knew my body. He’d said we’d done this before, but that didn’t make it any easier to think of other people knowing that I wanted him.

While I was wrestling with my guilt, he slipped out of bed, shrugging his dressing gown back on. I immediately felt colder, less sure, and moved toward his side of the bed, chasing his warmth. He straightened and re-tied his robe, then paused, looking back at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Something on my face?”

His mouth didn’t change, but his eyes smiled. “Your face is fine.”

“I’ve always aspired to be fine.”

The Darkling let his lips curve into a half-smile, then vanished into the washroom. I tried to sink back into the mattress and longed for the oblivion of sleep, where I didn’t have to face any moral dilemmas. _People have compromised their morals for less_ , he’d said, but I couldn’t afford to be like other people. I was all that stood between the world and a blanket of eternal darkness. I wasn’t supposed to take the darkness to bed. I should be better than this.

But it was so nice to be held.

I groaned, pressing my face into one of the many down pillows. “Don’t you ever take a day off?” I called. This would all go away if I could coax him back into bed with me.

He turned off the tap, and then I heard his footsteps on the floor as he paced back into the bedroom. “There are no ‘days off’ when you’re running a country.”

I wanted to tell him that wasn’t exactly what I remembered of the old king, but I knew that would only work against my point. Instead, I rolled onto my side so I could look at him more easily. His back was turned to me, but he’d shed his dressing gown somewhere and was beginning to dress. “Not even a few hours.”

“Always more work.” He stepped into his trousers and I watched him with fascination, somehow surprised that he got dressed like anyone else. When he glanced over his shoulder, still shirtless, he smiled. “Are you trying to sabotage me, Alina?”

“Not everything is an attempt to undermine your rule, you know,” I replied dryly, sitting up.

“Isn’t it? Because then the only alternative is that you want me to court you.”

I goggled at him. “‘ _Court_?’”

The Darkling rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t start. The last time I chased after anyone was centuries before you came along.”

“Court,” I repeated. I gestured at the rumpled blankets. “I feel like we’re a little past courting.”

He came to the side of the bed, resting one knee on the duvet. “But I didn’t do so horribly in the beginning, did I?”

“What?”

“Strolls through the Little Palace, walks by a moonlit lake, gifts.”

I threw a pillow at him, which he caught easily, entirely unruffled. “That was manipulation! You were manipulating me!”

“Is there really such a difference?” He leaned toward me, and I turned my face away. Undaunted, he cupped my jaw and kissed my cheek instead. “It’s all acting a certain way to get someone to give you something you want. Their hand in marriage, their body, their…”

“ _Power_ ,” I finished for him, pushing him away. “And, yes, there’s a difference.”

“How wise you are,” he murmured, but he left me alone so he could finish dressing.

In truth, I knew too little about any of this, a fact of which he was well aware. No one “courted” anyone in the army, where we were all too dirty and cold and afraid of death to indulge formalities. People found comfort in each other, of course, but that was also different. I suspected Mal and I had had _some_ thing before his death, and I hoped it was a little bit more than just falling into bed together, that we had time to talk and hold hands and do the things that lovers were supposed to do, but I didn’t know. I might never know.

“Talking to you is so frustrating,” I said, flopping back against the pillows as he finished with his _kefta_. “All I wanted was a few hours to, I don’t know, get to _know_ the man I’m married to better, and you had to turn into a lesson on the nature of human interaction.”

He laughed, lightly, but there was something sorrowful in it. “Are you sure you want to know me better?”

“Not at all.” And I meant it.

“Mm.” He adjusted his collar. “There’s a council meeting after breakfast. You’re welcome to attend if you like.”

I sat bolt upright. He had never invited me to any of the meetings of his council before. “Really?”

“You’ll have to hurry, though.”

“Oh, you—” I pushed the covers away and flung myself out of bed, picking my nightdress up off the floor and pulling it over my head.

“Alina.”

I paused, my hand outstretched to reach for the knob of the door that connected our rooms. “What?”

He had crossed to me so quietly that I didn’t notice he was beside me until he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me. I made a startled sound against his mouth, then melted against him, bringing my hands up into his hair. He might not be easy to know. He was, had always been, easy to kiss.

I hated the way it took no effort for him to leave me dizzy, but a traitorous part of me also liked it very much.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he murmured against my lips, and then he was gone.

Once I caught my breath, I called after him, “That’s not fair!”

And although I was pretty sure he was already out of earshot, I thought I heard one of his low chuckles echo down the hall.

* * *

I attended council meetings every day that week, sitting at the middle of the long table across from the Darkling. Mostly, I listened. I was well aware that, sans memories, I was out of my depth among career politicians. I was glad to have already developed relationships with a few allies, but it was still difficult to know who said what they meant, who I could trust, and who would just tell the Darkling what he wanted to hear if it meant they kept their head and got their way.

When I did want to speak, the Darkling would hold up a hand to silence the room and make sure I was heard over the din of arguing ministers. Even when I disagreed — although in fairness, our disagreements were on issues that he had already admitted were trivial to him, so I faced no retribution. When it came to foreign relations, I sometimes asked clarifying questions but largely watched and learned. If this was any different from what I had done before my “long illness,” none of the ministers seemed to notice or care. A couple of them did remark on how bright-eyed and well I looked when I attached myself to their arms as we all filed out of the council room, determined to avoid being alone with the Darkling.

My other duties did not bend to this new obligation, and I used my work on the centennial and my reading as excuses to avoid the Darkling’s bed. In truth, the centennial was running itself by this point. Natalia and I had sampled just about every piece of cake, every type of food that could be eaten with fingers, had looked at potential decorations and napkin foldings until our eyes blurred. I delegated everything that I could to the people who knew more, and aside from checking on their progress there wasn’t much for me to do. The wheels were turning now, and I wasn’t sure even the Darkling could have stopped them if he wanted to.

I had trouble knowing exactly what he wanted. He called me back a couple of times when I was leaving with the council, but only to ask me a couple of questions on what I’d heard and steal a kiss. I knew he was waiting for me to break and come to him again, but I didn’t. No matter how late I spent tossing and turning in my bed, I didn’t go.

So it was a surprise when, as she fussed over my hair one morning, Natalia said, “We’re going to have to figure out what you’ll wear tonight.”

I looked up at her. “For the centennial?” We’d long set my wardrobe, and by “we” I really meant Natalia, whom I’d given permission to contact designers on my behalf and make final choices. She had more of an eye for those things anyway.

She blinked. “No. For the ballet?”

“The ballet?”

“You and the Darkling are going to the Ravkan Ballet tonight,” she said, confused. “Aren’t you?”

That man. “I’m sure we are,” I said, “but this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“He does like to be mysterious,” Natalia remarked.

I looked up at her. “Was that _snark_?”

“Just an observation.”

“I’m a terrible influence on you.”

“Not so terrible,” she said, pinning up my white braids so they formed a crown of their own. “I’d never dare to say it in front of his face.” Her hands paused. “Do you _want_ to go to the ballet?”

“Of course. I’ve never—” I stopped myself. “Well, I don’t remember going, and I never thought I would. But…” I sighed. “This is my fault. I asked him to take me on a date.”

Natalia’s jaw dropped. “The Darkling?”

“I guess he’s a better listener than I thought.” Something about the public nature of the date rankled, although, of course, I wanted to see the ballet. The girl I was would have never had the chance. And what did I expect? A picnic in a meadow of wildflowers? Actually, that sounded lovely, except that a dozen _oprichniki_ would inevitably join us. And maybe a dragon, if I was very unlucky. Being in charge apparently also meant you could never be truly alone.

“It’ll be nice,” Natalia said, reassuring. She’d left small locks of hair falling down on either side of my face, which she now curled by winding them around her finger. “You have the royal box. It’s very private.”

I dreaded that as much as I longed for it. “Shouldn’t I wear a fancy _kefta_? One of the ceremonial ones?”

“That’s what he’ll expect.”

And she knew I’d want to do the last thing he expected. “You just want to put me in a pretty dress.”

Natalia smiled shyly. “Yes.”

Tailors. “So let’s surprise him,” I decided, leaning back on my vanity stool. “And no black.”

* * *

When I was brought to the Darkling that evening, he was as breathtakingly handsome as ever. He wore one of his finer _kefta_ , velvet and silk with finely wrought embroidery at the cuffs of his sleeves and the collar. A half-cape draped over one of his shoulders, making him look like a very fancy military commander.

But I had come prepared, and when he saw me he only said, “Alina.”

I had gotten used to studying his expressions, and I was pleased to see the blink, the slight raise of his eyebrow. I was wearing a feather-light gown that gathered in at my waist then cascaded to the floor, midnight blue silk spiderwebbed by silver thread. Diamonds glittered in the crown of my hair. My arms were bare, so Natalia had given me white gloves that rose past my elbow and an ermine capelet that skimmed my hips. “It has pockets,” she’d pointed out gleefully, “so your hands won’t get too cold.” My hands were in them now, but that was so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach for him in any way. He looked like he was having the same struggle.

“Hello,” I said. It was a strange echo of the way we’d met at the winter fete, all those years ago. “Should we go?”

“Yes,” he said, and he offered me his arm. When I took it I saw him blink, just once, like a man who strongly suspected he was in a dream and was trying to shake himself from it.

We walked together to the car, slid into the backseat while the chauffeur held the door open for us. And then we were driving down the streets of Os Alta, alone. For a while, I was too busy looking out the window at the city to worry about what might happen between us. The upper town was much the same, with its fountains, parks, and beautiful plazas. People had begun to string up twinkling lights in anticipation of the centennial, only a couple of weeks away, so the scene seemed to softly glow.

I felt the Darkling watching me. Without taking my face away from the window, I asked, “Are you going to say anything?”

“What is there to say?” he said quietly. “You look like a fallen star, and you look at the world like you’re seeing it for the first time. Alina, you are always a surprise.”

“But not always a pleasant one.”

“You are tonight.” I glanced back at him, and he was smiling. “How was that?”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Is everything a calculation with you?”

“Yes and no,” he said. He had an ankle crossed over one of his knees, and he sat almost diagonally so he could study me better. “The best lies are the truth, shifted at an angle that best appeals to listening ears. The same applies in seduction. Groundless flattery is easily seen through.”

“So you really think I look like a fallen star?”

“Yes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you like that.”

Instead of answering my question, he asked, “Why don’t you believe that men look at you?”

I shrugged. “I know what I look like.”

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t think you have any idea.”

When we arrived at the theater, we were immediately whisked up to the royal box through a private entrance, escorted by _oprichniki_ who seemed to swarm up out of nowhere. I had the briefest impressions of marble, red velvet, impossibly high ceilings, and gold as we rushed by. This place, at least, the Darkling had not stripped of its glory. Someone in an usher’s uniform took my ermine capelet. Once satisfied that we had been safely installed in the box, the _oprichniki_ melted away like shadows, leaving us alone.

“We have a few moments until the lights dim,” the Darkling said, looking out at the audience from the red curtains that stretched behind the elegant, high-backed chairs. “We’ll take our seats then. Otherwise they’ll never leave us be.”

I peeked out from behind the curtains too. I couldn’t help it. We had such a clear view of the stage, yes, but also of the heads of the people milling about below. “The audience?”

“Ministers, Grisha, whomever wants a word. Maybe an assassin, for some excitement.” He shook his head. “We’ll let ourselves be seen only at the end of the production. The dancers will bow to us. Even so, I imagine someone will try to accost us at intermission.”

“Just glare at them,” I suggested. “That usually does the trick.”

His lips quirked. “The _oprichniki_ will assure our privacy, such as it is.”

I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t get why so many people fight to rule when it just means no one will ever leave you alone until you die.”

“Power demands many costs.”

“Bad enough the entire palace gossips about our sex life.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” I said awkwardly, “it’s private.”

“Not if you ask thousands of years of Ravkan royalty.”

I didn’t want to argue about this, mostly because I suspected I’d lose. Thankfully, the lights began to dim and we finally took our seats in the box. “So what’s the ballet?” I asked.

“The Soldier Prince.”

“The Kerch fairytale? That’s not very Ravkan.”

“The composer is Ravkan. Was, I should say. He composed the ballet some decades ago, but it’s only recently become popular.”

I set my elbow on my armrest and my chin on my hand. “Define ‘some’ decades.”

The Darkling settled back in his chair, getting comfortable. I was beginning to think he could look at home anywhere, on a throne, in a theater seat, in a rickety wooden chair. “Seven? Eight? It’s easy to lose count.”

“Right,” I said weakly. I looked down into the orchestra pit as the overture began to play, thinking that I never wanted to lose count. Even if I was buried under the weight of my years, I wanted to feel them all. I couldn’t afford not to if I was going to keep my promise.

The Darkling distracted me from my heavy thoughts by leaning over and whispering, “The second violin is flat.”

I frowned. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Just a hair.” He held his thumb and forefinger so that there was only a tiny sliver of air between them. “Most people wouldn’t notice.”

“Is this the part where I say ‘most people don’t have centuries of practice?’” He looked so pleased with himself that I knocked my foot against his. “Stop preening.” But I didn’t feel so burdened anymore. Our antagonistic banter really had become comfortable.

I spent the next while letting myself be swept up in the romance of the ballet, the costumes, the sparking sets, the artistry. It was impossible to tear my eyes away from the dancers, with their graceful arms and arcing legs, their impeccable postures, the way the men would pick up the women like they weighed nothing.

The story was one I knew well. It was in one of the books Mal and I had read as children, and became one of the plays that we performed in the dusty upper rooms of Keramzin. Saints knew there were enough mice there for an army. There was really only one main role for girls — Clara — so Mal took the others, leaping around as toy prince, brother, and suitor, and trying to entrap a fat mouse to be the Rat King, until we both fell into a giggling heap and then, realizing the time, scrambled to get washed up for dinner.

There was no way the Darkling could have known that. No matter how close we had grown in my missing time, I couldn’t imagine giving away those memories of Mal to anyone. I didn’t know what it meant yet that I had those, with Mal, and these new ones with the Darkling, where we sat in the royal box, not quite enemies but not yet friends, and let the music capture us. I wonder what he heard in it. I wondered what he was like as a child, whether he had had anyone to play with.

When intermission came, the Darkling cast a haze of shadow over the box so that no one saw us as we sat together, my heart full of sweet melancholy, his full of who knew what. The _oprichniki_ kept anyone from bothering us, as he’d said they would. For a while, we didn’t speak at all.

“Girls always think they’re Clara,” I said at last. “I did, too, when I was little. Now I feel like the Soldier Prince. Being pushed around by people who have their own ideas about who they want me to be, unsure of who I am myself.”

He nodded.

“I suppose you’re the Dollmaker,” I continued, only half-teasing. “Plying a young girl with pretty things so she’ll grow up to love you.”

“No,” he said softly. “The prince. Intent on breaking free from the chains of my masters, determined to forge my own destiny.”

I don’t know why I was surprised that he still considered himself the hero of the piece, but I was. “I guess stories really can be whatever you want,” I murmured, looking back at the stage.

I didn’t really want to examine the strange softening in my chest, like the thawing of a glacier. Maybe he understood a little more of me than I thought he did. Or maybe I saw more of him than he had meant to show me. Either way, something had given.

The lights fell. The music swelled again from the orchestra pit. In the dark of the theater where no one could see, I reached for his hand. After a moment, he twined his fingers in mine, and we watched the rest of the ballet in silence.

* * *

We were not lucky enough to be left alone forever. The dancers paid us their due at the end of the performance, bowing to our box, and we smiled and waved for the audience as they cheered. With our presence now known, we had many eager would-be courtiers swarming us when we emerged from the box. I was surprised at how many were Grisha. I guess I had thought of the Grisha as apart from society for a very long time, so it was strange to see such a mixed audience, _otkazat’sya_ and Grisha alike united by music and story.

As I exchanged pleasantries with the sparkling upper crust of Os Alta society — some of whom I already knew, some I did not — the usher returned at my elbow. “Your cloak, _moi soverenyi_ ,” he said, handing me the ermine capelet.

I wrapped it back around me gratefully; my bare shoulders had grown cold during the ballet. But when I slipped my hands into the pockets, I felt something brush my left hand that I was sure hadn’t been there before, and when I dug around, I fished out a slim piece of cardstock.

Making sure the Darkling was absorbed in conversation, I stepped aside to examine it. It was a business card with an illustration of a crystal ball and an address in the lower city. Beside the crystal ball, it read:

 _ **Madame Lola**_  
Soothsayer and Fortune Teller

This had to be a mistake, a trifle that had slipped from someone else’s coat into mine. I turned the card over, expecting the back to be blank. It wasn’t. Someone — with beautiful, elegant handwriting — had left a message for me in blue ink: _Saturday, two bells. Come alone. Don’t be late._

Instead of a signature, they’d drawn the sun in ascendancy. My sun.

My soldiers had found me.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait,” I said quietly.
> 
> He stood, waiting.
> 
> I opened the door to my room. Without a word, I went inside. Without a word, he followed me, and closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another definitely M-rated chapter!
> 
> The artwork in this chapter — best viewed in a browser — is by the illustrious [HouseOfFinches](https://twitter.com/houseoffinches), who also recently drew the kiss scene from this fic, which you can and should check out on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1316070966590496768)/[Insta](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGYlA9qAzcs/). Show her love, it's beautiful. ♥
> 
> Graphic for chapter 20 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/632425142639886336/wait-i-said-quietly-he-stood-waiting-i).

“Is there something on your mind?” the Darkling asked mildly as we slid into the back of our waiting car.

The card, of course. It felt like the card burned a hole in my pocket as we finished our greetings and left the ballet. Who sent it? Were they a naive idealist or one of the violent revolutionaries that the Darkling had spoken of so derisively? Should I go meet with them, even if just to discourage them, or would it be endangering us both? And why would they want to meet in a fortune teller’s shop, of all places?

Of course, I could not ask any of these questions aloud. If I were one of the Darkling’s true believers, or even just a loyal wife, maybe I would have without a second thought. But I wasn’t.

So I shook my head. “My face hurts,” I said. “I’ve been smiling too much.”

He chuckled. “Not a born politician, then?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for it.” I leaned against his side. “We should retire to our summer palace and never leave.”

“You make it sound so tempting.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tug off one of his gloves. Then he rested his hand at the nape of my neck, just above the collar. He’d done this before, once, when I was panicked from an assassination attempt, and it had been enough to lull me to sleep on horseback. Now, that familiar sense of certainty coursed through me, and I closed my eyes. The note slipped my mind entirely.

“This was a good suggestion,” he said.

“What was?”

“Taking a few hours just…” He sighed. “Just to be. We used to do this more often, but when it became clear that you weren’t going to recover your memories, I threw myself into work. I’ve had trouble pulling myself away from it.”

“It is a lot of work,” I pointed out.

“It is,” he agreed. “But I built and ran the Second Army for centuries. I can handle a country. Even so, I think…” He shifted against my side. “After the centennial is over, maybe we should leave the city. Just for a while. Not all of the old palaces still stand, but there are a few. We could spend the spring sheltering somewhere quiet.”

“Palaces are overrated and drafty. Why not a _dacha_? There are only two of us.” I looked up at him. “We could drive each other mad in the quiet. Bicker until our ears bleed.”

To my surprise, he said, “I like arguing with you, Alina. It makes me realize how dull it is to be agreed with all the time. You present a challenge. I… enjoy it.”

 _Only to a point_ , said a voice in my head, but I pushed it aside. I knew that about him — that our arguments were safe as long as they were theoretical, as long as he was still in control. But I didn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, I wanted so badly to believe him.

When we returned home, we walked through the sleeping palace together. It was near midnight, and we didn’t see anyone else. I took my gloves off so that I could clasp my bare hand to his, chasing that fleeting feeling of peace. He would be the first to tell me that peace was an illusion, but everyone succumbs to illusions sometimes. At least I knew what I was doing. This beautiful man, this beautiful place, it was all real and yet not real enough.

“Good night, Alina,” he said, when we reached the door to my bedroom. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then released my hand, ready to walk away.

“Wait,” I said quietly.

He stood, waiting.

I opened the door to my room. Without a word, I went inside. Without a word, he followed me, and closed the door behind him, locking it. There was a fire going in the grate, the only source of light aside from the moon and stars outside of my window, the distant gleam of the city lights beyond the trees.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I offer him something to drink? I didn’t have anything aside from water, so I’d have to ring for wine or _kvas_. But he could ring for something just as well. This was more his house than it was mine. Everything I thought of seemed ridiculous. In the end, I just walked over to my bed and stood there. When he came to me, I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, faintly amused.

“I’ve never done this before,” I snapped, voice jagged with nervousness.

He bent his head, mouth just brushing my ear. “Liar.”

His hands found my braided crown and drew the pins out of it until the braids fell with a shower of diamonds, and then he unwound those as well, freeing my hair. I began undoing all of his buttons with shaking hands as he removed my wrap and let it, too, fall to the floor. I felt a momentary surge of panic at the thought that the card might fall out, but it didn’t. I was glad he could only sense my emotions, not my thoughts. There was plenty to panic about. I turned my back to him so he could undo the line of pearl buttons that ran from my shoulders to my hips, and his nimble fingers made short work of them.

Soon enough, we were both naked. I had never quite seen _him_ this way, all of him exposed to the firelight. He stood like he knew I would examine him and find nothing wanting, seeming as comfortable as he was clothed. But when I placed my hand flat against him, just below his navel, the flutter of his dark eyelashes almost gave me the vulnerability I was looking for.

“Come here,” he murmured, and he sank down onto the bed, against my pillows, pulling me after him so that I ended up with my knees on either side of his legs, looking down at him. I braced my hands on his shoulders, running them up the column of his neck, into the shorter hair at his nape. He bent his head to my chest and, sensing the thread of tension still knotted in me, made it his job to relax me with his lips, his hands.

“I— like this,” I managed, after a while.

“Mm.” He did not look up. “What do you like?”

“Being taller than you.” I ran my hands through his hair, mussing it. “I never get to look down at you.”

I felt his smile. “You’ll be looking up at me soon enough.”

The Darkling placed his hands on my hips and tried to pull me forward, but I hovered where I was, straddling him just over his knees, and asked, “Are you going to tell me your name?”

He looked up from kissing my shoulder, sounding slightly mournful when he said, “I’d hoped you might remember it on your own.”

I shook my head. “You’d better tell me, because I’m not calling you _moi soverenyi_ here.”

“Well, you could,” he said thoughtfully.

“Name.” I laced my fingers together at the back of his neck. “Now.”

“You always ask so sweetly,” he murmured, and he managed to distract me momentarily with more kisses. “My Alina, my fierce little Alinochka. If I say it, will you say it back to me?”

I nodded.

He hesitated, one of his thumbs stroking idly up and down my hip. But then he said, “Aleksander.”

I was surprised it was so simple. Something I might have guessed. “Aleksander?”

“Yes.” Again he pulled me into him, and this time I didn’t resist. I was ready, and as armed as I could be. “Say it again.”

“Aleks—” With his hands guiding me, I settled at last in his lap. “ _Ah_. Alek _san_ der.”

The sensations were overwhelming, like there was nowhere we weren’t touching. My chest pressed against his chest, my thighs on the outside of his, one of his hands on my hip and the other sliding up between my shoulder blades. I pressed my cheek to his, closing my eyes and clinging to his neck for dear life. It didn’t _hurt_ , not really, but the sheer rush of power through me, like the driving current of a river yearning desperately for the sea—

He pressed up into me, nudged his nose against my jaw. “Move, Alina.”

After a moment, I moved. And he moved with me.

* * *

“Aleksander,” I said later, tracing circles on his chest with my index finger. My head rested on his left side, above his heart. I could hear his heartbeat beginning to slow. I was a little surprised that he had one, that it behaved like anyone else’s.

“You thought it was provincial the first time I told you.”

“It is, a bit. I’ve known a handful of Aleksanders. At Keramzin, in the army.”

“A name borne by kings and peasants alike,” he said. “A great equalizer.”

I hummed, content. My body felt loose and relaxed, a tightly-coiled spring come unwound. My skin soaked up the moonlight from the open window and reflected it back, so I glowed all over. “We should do that again.”

“We will.” I didn’t have to see him to know he was smirking down at me.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“Well, most men would—” I picked up my head. He was watching me, lazy amusement on his face, but his eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. “You’re not most men,” I finished.

“I’m not most men,” he agreed. “And I will have you as often as you want me.”

I supposed I could have worse in a lover. In a _husband_. This didn’t exactly balance out all of his other qualities, unfortunately, but it was something. I put my head back down. “Not bad for a second first time, then?”

He stroked my hair. “You do have a very good teacher.”

“Give me some credit. I’m a fast learner.” I yawned. “Although maybe I’m not up for another round just yet.”

“Rest.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll wake you.”

“I just bet you will,” I murmured, but I was not annoyed. I looked forward to it.

He fell quiet, then said, “Say it again.”

“Greedy.” I shifted my head on his heart, getting comfortable. “Good night, Aleksander.”

“My Alina.” His fingers, pushing my hair back over my shoulder, brushed the bone collar at my neck. “Sleep well.”

* * *

I woke up briefly in the night to find him still there, sleeping beside me. His hair, usually neat, was unkempt, an inkstain on my pillow. In these quiet hours between dusk and dawn, he looked less like the monster he was and more like a man.

If I were less selfish, I would make like a princess in some hellish folktale and plunge a dagger in his heart. I would kill him as he slept next to me and rid the world of him. But I was selfish. He was the only one I had left, and I wanted so badly not to be alone.

I put my head down, and slept on.

* * *

“I’m thinking of going into Os Alta,” I said to him a few days later. “Just to have a look around.”

We had spent the past few days in and out of each other’s rooms, eating breakfast together in the mornings, unwinding in the evenings after our various duties when we could. Sometimes he would sleep in my room, or I in his, but he was an early riser and I’d often wake alone. Now, I was sketching in his study while he reviewed the last of the day’s correspondence at his desk. I hadn’t gotten to tell him about my planned errand in the city, and this seemed as good a time as any.

He barely glanced at me. “You know it’s too dangerous.”

I sat up straighter. “You act like I can’t defend myself at all, and we both know that isn’t true. Besides, Aleksander, a _dragon_ isn’t going to snatch me out of a town square.”

Maybe it was low of me to use his name, but it made him look. He studied me over his latest report.

“How am I supposed to govern these people if I don’t know them?” I asked. The best lies are the truth — he’d said so himself — and I meant every word of this one. “I haven’t been among them for a hundred years. You said once that I wasn’t a prisoner. Prove it to me.”

He sighed, putting the paper down and rubbing his temples as if he felt a headache brewing, as if I was the headache. Likewise, I set my sketchbook aside and walked over to his desk.

“I’ll come back,” I said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You know that. You have to know that by now.” _Where would I go_?

After a long moment, he turned his attention back to his papers. “Natalia visits friends in Os Alta on the weekends. Go in her company.”

I frowned. “I don’t want to impose on her.” And I didn’t want it falling on her shoulders if she lost track of me while I figured out what awaited me at Madame Lola’s. Besides, I’d been told to come alone.

“You’re my wife. You may impose on whomever you like.” He signed off on something, then set it aside. “I’ll assign you a discreet escort.”

“Secret police,” I sighed.

“They won’t get in your way.” He turned in his chair to draw me between his legs. “The centennial is in a couple of weeks. Use the last of your leisure time well. Eat terrible street food and— buy something nice.”

I raised both of my eyebrows. “You don’t know what people do with free time, do you?”

“I have several very good ideas,” he said, pulling me into his lap.

* * *

This was how I ultimately wound up in the back of a car with Natalia at midday on Saturday, fussing with my skirt.

“Do people actually wear clothes this _short_?” I asked. Although I was also wearing thick stockings to ward off the cold, most of my leg was showing below the knee. Natalia had somehow managed to procure this clever little outfit, a blue wool dress and a matching jacket. She’d also pinned my hair under itself so that it looked like it was cut short, and hid most of it beneath a hat. I didn’t mind the clothes. I just expected there to be more fabric.

“It’s the new style,” Natalia explained. She looked about as happy about me being here as I was to be wearing this outfit. “It was first popular in Kerch. You look like a girl from the upper town who’s come to hobnob with commoners on the weekend.”

“Technically true,” I groused, looking out the window.

“You look fine,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with your legs.”

“I know.” But even in the army, when men and women alike wore trousers, they had been a little looser-fitting than this. I sighed. “I think my standards are about a century out of date.”

Natalia signaled for the driver to pull over and let us out. We had crossed the canal and entered the lower town, and I saw now that we had pulled up just short of a market square, the kind I remembered. But the grey gloom that seemed to pervade the rest of the Ravkan towns I’d seen dominated here, too. I remembered the lower town being cramped and haphazard, and it still was; everyone seemed to be living on top of each other. But there was an eerie sense of order here, of quiet. The market stalls sat in orderly rows. Among the crowds, people went about their business cheerlessly. Car traffic was managed by a system of lights that changed color based on who was meant to stop or go.

We definitely stood out. Our outfits had much more color than anyone else’s. Natalia had traded her _kefta_ for an ensemble like mine, but hers was deep crimson. Even without it she would have drawn looks for her height and pretty face. A man whistled in her direction, but she completely ignored him.

“Want me to blind him for you?” I offered.

“It’s fine,” she said, practically wringing her hands. “I’d normally take the underground here. The car draws too much attention. Do you know where you want to go? I can take you around for a while, but I’m supposed to — that is — I have an appointment.”

Saints, it was nearly as bad as when we first met. “You can go to your appointment,” I said. “With a friend, right? I don’t need to be anywhere for an hour or so.”

“But I’m not supposed to leave you alone,” she fretted. “Where is it you have to go?”

I took the scrap of paper from my pocket and showed it to her. I’d transferred Madame Lola’s address from the card, then burned the note. It seemed safer.

“Oh, that’s not very far at all,” she said, keeping her voice low, as if she sensed my need for secrecy. I saw her shoulders relax. “I can probably see Victor first.”

“Don’t let me get in your way,” I assured her. “I can wait in a cafe or something.”

“It doesn’t seem right to leave you alone,” said Natalia, but we began to walk anyway. I had to nearly trot to keep up with her.

“I’m not alone,” I said in a low voice. “I’ve been reassured _several_ times that secret policemen watch our every move.” Although, disconcertingly, I didn’t see them. I supposed that was the point. “Plus, you should get to spend time with your boyfriend.”

Natalia’s cheeks darkened. “It’s not like that.” Then she cocked her head at me. “Wait, you don’t know why I’m here at all.”

“No?”

“He didn’t mention anything? Or the servants?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, Saints,” said Natalia, and then with a glance at me, added, “Sorry. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” I said, hoping that was helpful. I was completely lost.

Natalia sighed. “Okay,” she said, sounding unsure herself. “I keep having to remind myself that you don’t remember anything. I’m not sure what term they used one hundred years ago for…” At my absolutely baffled face, she added, “For context, when I was born, my parents— everyone thought I was a boy.”

My jaw dropped. “What? _How_?”

“I told you I wasn’t born looking like this.”

“So you were—” It took longer than I’d like to admit, but understanding dawned. I thought she meant it like Genya had, but she’d meant something else entirely. “Oh. _Oh_. Wow.”

She tensed, waiting for my reaction, but although I was immediately very curious I also had the strong sense that the specifics were probably none of my business. Wasn’t that what Tailors did? Modify people so they looked how they thought they should? This didn’t seem much different. “I don’t think anyone would make that mistake now. It’s lucky you were also born a Tailor.”

“I’d be just as much a girl if I wasn’t one, but it would be harder for other people to accept, I think.” Her long hair was unbraided today, but she still fiddled with the ends of it. “And not everyone’s that lucky. Victor’s the brother of one of the Little Palace guards, and when that guard heard what I could do with faces, he asked if I’d tend to him. He was the first friend I made outside of the school walls. He’s like me.”

“Like— everyone thought he was a woman?” Natalia nodded. “And you help him look more like a man? Like the man he is,” I corrected.

She nodded again. “I’m sorry if I was rude before. It’s just that— you don’t know how important it is. I didn’t know if I’d be able to see him with you in tow.”

“It’s fine. Really. I can wait.” I looked at my boots on the cobblestones for a few seconds, then asked, “Does the Darkling know?”

Natalia gave me a sideways look. “About me or about Victor?”

“About you.”

“Of course. He knows everything. Actually, in a weird way, he was the first person I told.” I must have looked shocked, because she said, “When they brought me to the Little Palace, I was insistent that I wanted to be put with the girls. Well, when I say insistent… I kept whispering it over and over again.” She gave a small, self-deprecating smile. She looked shy and painfully lovely. “The first inkling anyone had that I might be Grisha was that my hair grew unnaturally fast after my mother cut it. I wanted long hair like my older sisters, but I couldn’t make anyone understand why. They thought I was confused.”

“You knew that young?”

“Some do. Some of us don’t figure it out for a long time.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her coat. “The teachers didn’t know what to do, so they brought me to the Darkling. I was so scared I started crying. I was from a small town. All I knew about him was what people whispered.” She shrugged. “But he just took one look at me — he looked annoyed, but I realized later it was because the teachers had bothered him at all — and he said, ‘Put her with the girls. If anyone has a problem, they can take it up with me.’”

“So no one dared.”

“Exactly.”

After a moment, I said, “It’s not like him to be kind.”

“Unless he thinks he can get something out of it,” Natalia said, surprising me. “I’m not that naive, Alina. What he got was my loyalty. I looked up to him because he didn’t doubt me for a second. I didn’t realize until I met Victor and the others that ‘not doubt’ was the bare minimum of what a decent person did.”

The others. “And by the time you started wondering, you’d made friends. He had something else entirely to hold over you.”

Natalia shrugged. “A handful of them are students. They see representative governments blooming elsewhere in the world and want that for Ravka. He’d barely need to fabricate charges. I tried to distance myself, but they always knew who I worked for. Some of them decided the Tailoring was worth the risk.” She glanced at me apologetically. “They’re protected as long as I do my job with you.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Really, it is. I don’t have many secrets. And—” I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “Even if I did, the people you love are worth more.”

She squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I said quietly.

I ended up waiting for Natalia in a tiny, mostly deserted cafe on the same block as her friend Victor’s apartment building. Soon after I walked in and spent some of the pocket money I’d requisitioned on piroshki, a man entered after me, ordered only tea, then took a seat by the window and opened a newspaper, pretending to ignore me. The message was clear enough; I was being watched.

But I was watching, too, watching the passersby — the men, women, and children in their thick winter coats, itching to draw them. Here was a harassed-looking mother doing her shopping for the week, there a young couple sharing a private joke, like in my old paintings. Times changed, but people didn’t.

After about half an hour, I saw Natalia emerge from the front of one of the buildings, flushed from the use of her power. There was a boy with her who looked to be about her age, with a shock of red hair and the beginnings of a beard coming in. He had a bright, friendly smile, which encouraged Natalia to smile as well, and they chatted on the stoop for a few minutes, back and forth, effortless conversation. She looked more at ease than I had ever seen her, and I understood. It was the grace and confidence that came from being among people who truly knew you.

My heart ached. When you’re an orphan, displaced, your home is other people. I rubbed my thumb along the scar on my palm, which time had not smoothed. I didn’t think I’d found mine yet. I’d had it, maybe, then lost it. Sometimes I thought I’d found it again, but only in fleeting, quiet moments that never lasted.

Natalia hugged Victor goodbye, then turned up in the front door of the cafe. The glow of their conversation hadn’t worn off yet. “I told him I needed to go show my cousin Maria around,” she said. “Should we go?”

She was so beautiful that the man behind the counter practically chased us down the street to give us more piroshki for free. By the time I thought to look for him, the secret policeman who’d been reading the newspaper had vanished completely.

* * *

“I think this is it,” Natalia said, sounding utterly bewildered. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

“Not at all,” I lied. I pulled her arm and pointed out a stall next door. “Here, let’s look at these relics. Are your parents religious, cousin Natalia? Maybe they need a new icon of Sankt Ilya.”

I knew we were in the right place. The slightly faded sign above the doorway said “Madame Lola” in bold purple lettering, then beneath it in slightly smaller print, “Soothsayer and Fortune Teller.” Compared to the rest of the street, Madame Lola’s was practically a riot of color. Heavy purple drapes hung behind the glass windows, and the door itself was a deep violet, a striking contrast with the grey concrete.

“I haven’t written my parents in years,” Natalia protested. She looked at the bits of bone and scraps of fabric that were also laid out on the table, then flinched. Like most Grisha, she was not very religious.

“Maybe it’s time we changed that,” I suggested, pretending to examine a bit of rusty metal that probably was meant to have come from the armor of Sankt Juris. In the distance, I heard a clock tower chime two bells.

The purple door of Madame Lola’s flew open, and a voice with a comically indeterminate accent boomed, “Natalia Andreyev!”

Natayla jumped, white as a sheet, and we both turned to see a woman with a weathered face and a cloud of white hair tied back with a purple kerchief standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

“M-me?” Natalia stammered.

“You have been expected,” the woman said. She was draped in layers of silk in different shades of purple, from the lightest lavender to the deepest indigo. For many reasons aside from the terrible accent, I doubted that she was actually a legitimate fortune teller. A real Seer would never ply her trade in such a way.

But who or whatever she was, the woman was determined. A bony hand shot out and seized Natalia’s wrist. “Come, come. We have much to discuss.”

Natalia shot a helpless look back at me, and I stepped forward. “I’m coming with her.”

“Yes, yes. All has been foretold in Madame Lola’s crystal ball. Come quickly then, girl. You’re letting in the cold.”

Our odd procession vanished into the shop. I closed the door behind me, but the young woman sitting behind the desk, a scarf hiding her hair and casting half her face in shadow, stood when we entered and quietly moved behind us to lock it. It was dark in the shop front, candles the only illumination, the strong smell of jasmine and incense nearly overwhelming me.

“Are you _sure_ it’s her you want to talk to?” I asked, bewildered.

Madame Lola waved me off. “Yes, girl. What business does Madame Lola have with the reigning queen of Ravka?” Natalia’s jaw dropped. “Oh, I know you both, yes. But it is Natalia Madame Lola must speak with most urgently. The queen can have patience, yes?”

I looked at Natalia, who gave me a subtle shake of her head. “I guess so?” I said.

“Ah, queens are not used to waiting. All in time, dearie, all in time. Have a seat while you wait. Lara, see that our queen is comfortable.”

She dragged Natalia through a pair of heavy velvet curtains, and they were both gone. I looked around. There were a couple of plush armchairs and even more plush cushions to sit on, but I remained standing.

“What’s going on?” I demanded of the only other person in the room. The reception girl was pulling the drapes closed so we could not be seen from the street. “Will Natalia be alright?”

“What’s going _on_ is you were supposed to come alone,” the girl snapped. There was a frosty bite to her voice that was oddly familiar, but it took me aback. No one spoke to me like that anymore.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” I retorted. “Tell me she’ll be safe.”

“The Darkling’s spy?”

“My friend.”

“She’ll be fine. ‘Lola’ will handle her.” The girl secured the chain lock on the door, then paused. “You should sit down.”

I folded my arms. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

“Fine.”

The girl had impeccable posture, a soldier’s bearing, and her spine straightened even further as she steeled herself. Then she turned to face me, drawing down her scarf so that I could see her clearly. I gasped. She had glossy black curls, eyes that were hard and blue as sapphires, and a face I thought I would only ever see again in my sketchbooks. The face of a woman who should have been long dead.

“We need to talk,” said Zoya Nazyalensky.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So did you ever apologize for breaking my ribs?”
> 
> Zoya sipped at her tea again. “Your ribs are fine, aren’t they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I mentioned in the original author's note that there would be _King of Scars_ spoilers, sort of? They're folded in here, but they've also been thoroughly remixed, so it's your call on whether to read on. (I think _King of Scars_ will still surprise you even if you read this chapter first.)
> 
> HouseOfFinches posted her art from the last chapter on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGiopj5AG2x/%22%20rel=)! Make sure to show it love. ♥
> 
>  _And_! Lilithsaur drew some incredible art of this fic, which you can find on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lilithsaur/status/1318703240838602752), [Tumblr](https://lilithsaur.tumblr.com/post/632542273975009280/when-you-are-a-villain-but-you-still-love-your), or [Insta](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGl2qFSAkyF/). It's absolutely gorgeous and I _flipped_ when I saw it. Thank you so much!
> 
> Graphic for chapter 21 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/632605169863016448/so-did-you-ever-apologize-for-breaking-my-ribs).

At first I wondered if I’d lost it completely. But Zoya was unmistakable. It was definitely her. She was definitely here.

“Sit,” she said. “You look faint.”

My knees were on the verge of buckling. I sat, perching on the edge of one of the velvet armchairs. Although I’d read that Zoya had sided with me during the Ravkan Civil War, not the Darkling, I couldn’t imagine it. She had resented me so much for stealing his attention away that she made my misery her personal mission. We were far from friends.

But seeing her now, after not having seen a familiar face in so long, I could have kissed her.

Zoya sighed, poured some tea from the samovar, and slid it to me across the low wooden table, which had been covered by a fringed scarf for dramatic effect. “Drink.”

I didn’t touch it. “ _How_?” I asked.

“Surely you’re used to the impossible by now.” She poured herself tea and settled into one of the cushions, like she was royalty and I was the supplicant. “We don’t have time—”

“ _Make_ time,” I snapped. Just like that, any warm feelings were gone. “I have been stumbling around in the dark for—”

There was a knock at the door, and we both jumped. “Open up!” came a harsh male voice.

“Saints, the police.” In my shock, I had nearly forgotten. “I can talk to them.”

“No, let me.” Zoya stood and pulled her scarf back up over her hair, this time also pinning it across the lower half of her face so that only the bridge of her nose and her extraordinary blue eyes were visible. “Pretend you’re having a good time, won’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s a real party in here,” I muttered. Nothing made sense. My head spun, and the heavy perfume in the air wasn’t helping.

When Zoya opened the door, a uniformed _oprichnik_ stood there instead of the plainclothes officer I’d anticipated. There looked to be another behind him.

“Madame Lola is with a client,” said Zoya, planting her hand on her hip. She blinked at him, unamused, which drew attention to her dark lashes.

The _oprichnik_ ’s grim facade flickered for one moment as he took in the outline of her body, the dark curls of her hair trying to escape from the scarf. Even in the plain blue dress that served as her disguise, a frumpy cousin of the _kefta_ I’d known her to wear, she was stunning. But the man’s face hardened, and he barked, “Where is Alina Starkov?”

“Is something the matter?” I said, in my best imitation of the Darkling’s cool drawl.

The _oprichnik_ looked surprised to see me, whole and unharmed, sipping tea in a spacious armchair. I didn’t think I imagined the relief on his face when he sketched a quick bow. “ _Moi soverenyi_ , do you really wish to spend time in such a place? There was such commotion on the street—”

“What place is that, exactly?” Zoya asked, folding her arms and leaning against the doorway. Her voice was rich and alluring, but it held a knife’s sharpness. She studied the _oprichnik_ through lowered lashes.

“Well, I— that is, the Darkling—”

“Don’t forget, your _soverenyi_ was peasant-born,” I said. I didn’t need to feign irritation at being disturbed. “Forgive an old woman her superstitions. I was so hoping Madame Lola might be able to give me news of children, something my husband would be _very_ interested in, but…”

The _oprichnik_ paled. “Yes,” he said, with a cough. “Very well. We’ll send for the car when you’re done here.”

“Do you mind?” Zoya asked. “You’re letting the spirits escape.”

He bowed again and beat a hasty retreat. Zoya shut the door in his face, securing each lock and then double-checking them. “ _Children_?” she said with disgust.

“It got him to go away, didn’t it?” It seemed that what Natalia had told me was true. People were obsessed with the idea of heirs. I put the tea back down on the table and waved my hand at the room. “What’s with all of this, anyway?”

Zoya rolled her eyes, not even bothering to hide her frustration. She reclined again on the cushion, unpinning her scarf. “Offensive. Yes. I am well aware. But people pay for the act. Samara — ‘Lola’ — is one of our best spies.”

“Spies?”

“When do people see a fortune teller? When their lives are in turmoil and they need reassurance for the future. She doesn’t even have to press for secrets. They’re given freely.” She picked up her tea again and finally sipped at it. “We know which officials are taking bribes, which have mistresses stashed in the lower town, who’s having trouble conceiving, who’s been careless with their money. We hear it all from them or their wives who hope desperately for good news, then figure out where and when to deploy it. I can tolerate a bit of theater for that.”

But she seemed disgusted anyway, and I wondered at that. It might have just been the ostentatious decor. The fortune teller’s room was a cultural mishmash — I spotted lucky charms from Shu Han and woven knots in the Kaelish style among the decorations — but the overwhelming influence was Suli, and Zoya’s warm brown skin usually meant Suli heritage in Ravka. Of course, Grisha children were separated from their parents at a young age. Did she have much exposure to that culture growing up in the Little Palace? I had sometimes wondered about my own parents, the likely Shu ancestry sketched on my face that, having been raised in a Ravkan orphanage, I felt little connection to. But that was a lonely child’s question, and definitely not the most pressing one I had today.

“How?” I managed. And then, “ _Why_?”

Zoya raised a brow. “Why…”

“Why seek me out? Why aren’t you with the Darkling? Why haven’t you aged at all? Why you and not—” Zoya held up a hand, but I had already stopped myself before I could ask why she had been the one to endure, not Mal, not Genya. It would have been a stinging question, and maybe not fair to her. I wondered all the same.

“Where do your memories end?” she asked.

I blinked. “You know?”

“I’m in constant contact with your Soldat Sol. Father Alexei got word to me.”

 _Father Alexei_. The Darkling had suspected him. He’d wanted to interrogate him, torture his followers. “Is he alright?”

“He endures. He’s been doing this work for a long time. He knows the risk, as do those who follow him. Follow you.” Zoya watched me as I sat back in the chair, something cutting and dangerous in her face.

“I never asked for this,” I said.

“I know.”

I raised my eyebrows. That almost sounded like sympathy. I decided to answer her question. “I remember fleeing for Novyi Zem with Mal. After that, not much. Only flashes.”

Zoya nodded, the corners of her elegant mouth turning down. “I am not with the Darkling, as you have gathered,” she said, her voice quiet and fierce. “I had family in Novokribirsk. An aunt. A niece. They died. I opted to serve you.” She let out something like a haughty laugh, but it was hollow. “Since you must not remember much aside from the time I broke your ribs, I understand if you find that difficult to believe.”

“It was in one of my history books,” I said, although I had found it difficult to believe when I read it and still did now. “So did you ever apologize for breaking my ribs?”

She sipped at her tea again. “Your ribs are fine, aren’t they?”

Well, at least I knew this really was Zoya and not an impostor. “That doesn’t explain how you’re here. Every account said you vanished. I assumed you’d gone to ground, and then, well…”

“Died?” she asked, arching a single perfect brow. “Obviously not.”

“Yes, I gathered,” I said shortly. My relief to see her had given way into something else. I’d momentarily forgotten how condescending she was. “How?”

“It will take too long.” Zoya blew out an irritated breath. “Samara has probably put your… _friend_ into a stupor. Part hypnotism, part drugging— she’ll be fine,” she added, upon seeing my dismay. “But we have fifteen minutes at most before she needs to be brought out of it.”

“The short version, then,” I said. “I don’t recall trusting you, remember? So you need to convince me all over again, and you can’t do that by holding back.”

“Very well. The short version.” Zoya thought for a second. Her eyes flashed in the low light of the shopfront. “When you split the Fold, I was brought… elsewhere. Explaining more than that would be too complicated. I spent time there learning more about Grisha power than the Darkling wanted any Grisha to know, hoping to deal him the killing blow myself if you hadn’t managed it. But time ran differently there. When I stumbled out of there I thought it had been maybe three years? Four?” She shook her head. “It was ninety years. He had the world at his feet, and I had nothing.”

“Ninety years,” I repeated, rolling the words around in my mouth. Such a long time, and I remembered none of it. “You’re not so different from me. I mean, me now.”

“Yes, we both had a lot of catching up to do. But I crossed back because…” She sighed. “Suffice it to say the place I was no longer exists. But Ravka trembled when it fell, and he knew when I reentered this world. I didn’t have the luxury of a palace to return to, or of time to learn how the world had changed. Instead, he had me hunted. He knew what I… what I had become, that I was dangerous.”

I blinked, looking at her. Even in the relative darkness, there was a sharpness to her edges that seemed unnatural. “You’re like him, aren’t you?” I asked. “Like me. You— you’re stronger than other Grisha. You don’t age.”

“Among other things.”

“But with the Darkling’s reach—” I thought of how disoriented I’d been, even with the supposed luxuries she spoke of. “How did you survive?”

“Carefully. I spent some time hiding on the Fold.”

I almost dropped my tea. No one could survive on the Fold like that. “Now I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind.”

Zoya shrugged. “He couldn’t conduct a thorough search without you, and that would mean telling you I was alive. And he didn’t want you to know that. He enjoys being the center of your world.”

Her words were like the pricking of a thousand tiny needles. I bled guilt. “If you’re that powerful, you should be fighting him,” I said. It wasn’t what I meant. _I should be fighting him_.

Somehow, from across the room, she looked down her nose at me. “What do you think I’m doing here, Alina? I didn’t invite you over just to talk. I told you I’m working with the Soldat Sol.”

My head felt so foggy. It was overfull of revelations and incense and tea. “So you’re here to recruit me to my own cause?”

Zoya studied me. “Do you need recruiting?”

 _No, of course not_ , I wanted to say. _Let’s take him down. Let’s go burn down the palace_. But the words wouldn’t come. I curled my fingers over the edges of my too-short skirt and tried to forget the way the Darkling had whispered my name in my ear just this morning, how I had said his back. I had just begun to feel like I belonged.

“I’m not the woman you remember,” I said instead. “I don’t remember commanding the Second Army or being a Saint. I’ve tried to carve out a space to do good where I am. And I _am_ helping people. I—”

“Do you know why your cult persisted?” Zoya asked. “There are some who feel you’ve turned your back on Ravka, of course. You kept your head down. But you refused to help the Darkling with his campaigns of terror. You built schools and roads and houses, much like you’re doing now. You would walk among the people, distribute food and aid yourself when you felt up to it. You came up with the plan to defend Os Alta and other major cities from an attack everyone knows will someday come. You cared.” She paused. “But is it enough?”

“To balance the scales,” I mused. I wondered that myself. “To make up for the havoc he wreaks on the world.”

“You may have read about what happened,” she continued, “but I went to see it. What he did in Novyi Zem to secure the _jurda_ supply for Ravka— he may not have brought the Fold there, but there’s barren land where nothing grows even eighty years later. He razed villages and salted the earth until they agreed to his terms. But that’s not all,” she said, as I shook my head in horror, in disbelief. “He brutally purged the First Army when he took the throne. He would say he had to, that they wouldn’t accept him, but there’s a difference between executing the leaders of a revolt and ordering monsters to tear people apart indiscriminately. Alina—”

“I know this,” I protested weakly.

“If there’s so much as a whisper of dissent, thousands are executed, and thousands more are exiled to Tsibeya or sent to the work camps. You may think you know this, but he will never let you see it. Not from the halls of the palace.” Her eyes flashed again, strangely silver for a moment. “I know you’re not the woman I knew. But you’re also not who you were before you lost your memory. And—”

“You don’t know _who_ I am,” I hissed, my guilt boiling over until it felt like anger. It was easier to be angry at Zoya than at myself. “I woke up months ago in a completely unfamiliar world. There was no one beside me other than the Darkling. I did what I could to try to see the truth of things, but I didn’t have help. You could have _helped_ me.” I slammed my hands down on the low table, making my tea glass jump. “I needed you, and the first time you reach out is when you need me. I’m not so sure I _should_ help you.”

Zoya did not lose her cool. “He’s kept you closely guarded. I tried to make contact with you on your trip to Kribirsk, the first time you were away from the palace.”

I blinked, my anger extinguished. “You did?”

“Unsuccessfully. We were interrupted.” She drained the last of her tea.

“Well, I…” I trailed off, feeling foolish. “Oh.”

She cocked her head. “No, you are not who you were. There is more spark in you than there was in the broken queen, the complacent martyr.”

I rankled at being called complacent. “Did you ever meet her? The broken queen?”

“Once,” she replied. “But she seemed more willing to accept the fragile balance of things then. I put the same choice before her that I’m putting to you now. Will you be complicit? Or will you fight?”

I exhaled shakily. It was too much. What the world kept demanding from me was too much for any one person to bear. I wondered if the girl I had been before Mal’s death, the warrior Saint, had also been tired, had wished someone else could do the fighting for her.

“I have one more question,” I said slowly.

“Go on.”

“What happened to Mal?”

At last, I saw confusion cross Zoya’s face. “What?”

“Mal. In the battle on the Fold. The Darkling said I…” I drew a breath and made myself say it. “He said I was responsible for his death. I killed him. Maybe that’s why the person I was never raised a hand against him, because we’re the same. The Darkling and I, we’re both monsters.”

“No, Alina.” Zoya lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “ _No_. You didn’t kill Mal. He took his own life to save you.”

“What?” I sat up straight. I didn’t expect her to say that. “No, he would never. Why— why would he do that?”

“Do you know of Morozova’s amplifiers?” She nodded at the collar at my throat. “The stag, the sea whip?”

I nodded back. I had read about them in Petyr Kostyk’s account of my time during the war. It seemed like a roundabout way to answer my question, though. “And the firebird. I read that we sought the firebird but never found it and went to face the Darkling anyway. We had no other choice.”

Zoya shook her head. “That isn’t quite true, but the real story doesn’t belong in a book. You found the firebird, but the third Morozova amplifier was Mal. Ilya Morozova had somehow made his younger daughter the third amplifier when resurrecting her after a fatal accident. Mal was of her line.”

My jaw dropped. “So— so I—” I could barely wrap my head around it. “Was I supposed to kill Mal and wear his bones into battle?”

“That was the plan if all went wrong. You were reluctant.”

“Of course I was reluctant!” I exclaimed.

“But Mal was insistent. If that was what was needed to defeat the Darkling, so be it.”

I shook my head, then shook it again. “What— how was I supposed to defeat the Darkling after killing Mal?” And what about after that? Was I supposed to just pick up the pieces of my fractured soul and keep on living without him, haunted by the knowledge of what I’d done? “I’d go insane.”

“There were fears,” Zoya said, by way of agreement. “Not just of that, but of what wielding that much power would do to you. Whether you’d become like the Darkling. Whether it would corrupt you. With only two amplifiers you felt the constant pull to it, the hunger for more.”

 _Don’t forget to be human_.

“But I don’t feel it now,” I mused aloud, looking at the fetter on my wrist. “I don’t feel a pull toward anything now. Shouldn’t I still, if the set is incomplete?”

Zoya gave me a long look, then shrugged. “I don’t have all the answers. Maybe the pull died with Mal. Maybe your grief buried it. All I know is that during the battle on the Fold, it looked as though the Darkling’s men might capture him first. We all knew that if they found out what he was, both of you would be lost.” She kept her eyes on mine. “So he made the call.”

I inhaled shakily. Not quite blameless. He still died for me. “But I kept having dreams of him on the Fold. I made it to him.”

“The second he fell, you cleared the field and went it to his side. If it’s any consolation, he wasn’t alone.”

I exhaled. “And I broke.”

It came to me then, less a memory than an echo — the Darkling’s voice in my ear, coaxing, almost caressing. _You can end their suffering, Alina. Drop the knife. Stop fighting me. It’s all right. We’ll end it here._ I rubbed at my right wrist, feeling the ghost of his grip around it. _Hush, now. Drop the knife._

“I wasn’t there to see it, but I asked after you when I returned to this world. I heard stories of a queen who was sad and cold some days, warm others.” Zoya paused. “Even on your worst days, everyone agreed you had a good heart. You were never capricious, never cruel.”

“That’s good,” I said dully. _End it, Alina. Say you’re mine._

There was sunlight above. The dagger, wet with Mal’s blood, glinted as it fell to the sand.

“It’s likely for the best that you couldn’t complete the set,” Zoya said, oblivious to my remembrance, her voice oddly far away as if she, too, were reflecting. “The way Morozova constructed his amplifiers… it’s not how amplifiers were meant to be used. In its purest form, amplifier power is an exchange. The creature takes something of you just as you take something of it. You become one, stronger together. Wearing trophies with no sacrifice is a corruption of the process. Who knows what it would have done to you?”

She raised her hands to push her hair back over her shoulder, and I saw two black scale bracelets on her wrists when her sleeves fell away, not unlike the sea whip fetter I wore. Had she always had those? I could have sworn she’d worn a single silver bracelet before.

“Far be it from me to speculate on what Mal would have wanted,” she continued, scoffing. “He was enamored with you, which I never understood. From the number of difficult conversations we had about what your fates would be, I know that this isn’t what he wanted for the world or for you. But he also didn’t want you to be consumed by your power. For you to become…”

“Like the Darkling,” I finished for her. The whispers of the past receded.

“And you haven’t. Congratulations.” She glanced at the purple curtains. “We don’t have much time left. Yes or no, Alina? Will you fight?”

I looked at my hands, then up at her. “I’ll give you as much help as I can. But I can’t leave my position at the Darkling’s side until we’re certain he can be defeated. He’d tear the world apart looking for me. There would be nothing left to protect. If you were hoping that I’d rally rebels under my banner—”

“If I was ever that naive, I’m not anymore. But we do lack leadership.”

“What about you?”

Zoya’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “I’m not the one for the job. After a century under the Darkling, I am not sure the people would rally around another Grisha. Not if she isn’t a Saint.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “There’s a prisoner in the palace and I need you to get him out for me.”

“A prisoner?” I asked, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew. Every prisoner was in the jail. All except one. “The monster. The monster who used to be a man.”

“He _used_ to be Nikolai Lantsov, rightful King of Ravka.”

After everything I’d heard, I assumed she could no longer surprise me. I was wrong.

“ _What_?” I squeaked.

“The Darkling changed him. I don’t know how. You couldn’t change him back during the war. Even I can’t fix it, and I’ve tried. After I returned, I found him on the Fold, and I thought…” She shook her head. “But I couldn’t. Only the Darkling can undo what he did, and the Darkling likes him as he is.”

“A monstrous pet.” And worse. I looked away from Zoya. I had tried to be kind to the monster, but I hadn’t known what he really needed. “When did the Darkling take him?”

“A couple of years ago. He’d lived on the Fold for a long time without being captured. I think my presence drew attention to him.”

“So what do you want once he’s out?” I leaned against the back of the chair, crossing my left leg over my right, trying to grasp the shape of her plan. I remembered very little about the youngest Lantsov prince. “You want to restore him to the throne?”

Zoya frowned. “I want to unseat the Darkling. I’m not sure there is any restoring the throne, not to what it was, but that may be for the best. I need someone to lead a revolution, and he’s the best natural organizer I’ve ever met, an able strategist with dangerous amounts of charisma. He kept the Darkling on his toes for months. That isn’t nothing.”

“He’s not in any state to organize anyone as he is now,” I remarked. The monster still sometimes tried to chew on my hair through the bars of his cell.

“I know. That’s why you’re going to convince the Darkling to change him back.”

She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. “How am I supposed to convince him to change the monster back?” I asked, incredulous. “I can’t imagine he _wants_ to.”

Zoya wrinkled her nose. “I hate to say this, but charm.”

“Charm?”

She sighed. “It’s strange to see you innocent again. Seduce him, Alina.”

“ _Oh_.” I felt blood rush to my cheeks; I hoped it was too dark in here for her to tell how pink I had gone, but her gaze seemed too bright, too keen. “I don’t think that would work. He’s much better at seduction than I am.”

Zoya shrugged. “He’s a man. Men don’t notice you using their tricks against them until it’s too late.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I muttered. I tried to imagine myself pulling him close in the dark, twining my arms around his neck, then murmuring, _While I have you here, Aleksander, there’s something I need you to do for me…_ I felt a rush of shame just thinking about it. What a joke.

“You’ve been married to him for a century, whether or not you remember. There’s no sense being precious now.”

“I’m not being precious. There’s nothing to be precious about.” I pulled my wool coat a little tighter to my body.

Her blue eyes were piercing. I had not missed that look. “Oh,” she said, her voice rich with distaste. Then she shrugged again. “Just do it again if you’ve done it already. Wait until he’s in a good mood, and then ask.”

Again, I thought Zoya had no idea of the monumental effort this would require. Men probably fell at her feet for the smallest things. Why hadn’t she been the Saint? She certainly looked the part, and she seemed to have a much better idea of what she was doing.

But, with another guilty squirm in my gut, I remembered the realization I’d had the first time I’d touched the Darkling. Sex made everyone stupid. Maybe I didn’t have to seduce him. Maybe I just had to find the right moment to plead my case. After all, whether or not I wanted to lead a revolution, I did sincerely want to help the monster. No one deserved the fate the Darkling had decided for him.

“How long do I have?” I asked quietly.

“Twelve days. I hope to infiltrate the palace and retrieve him from his cell the night before the centennial’s opening festivities. While I don’t need your help for that, it would make everything run more smoothly.”

My brows furrowed. “Security will be tight. We’ll have foreign delegations arriving on the grounds that day.”

“But those guards will be watching the guests, not the wine cellar,” Zoya said, eyes sparkling. “And am I not speaking with the person who has direct access to the head of palace security?”

I could feel something awakening inside of me, something I hadn’t known was there. A spark of defiance that might light a fire. The Sun Saint raising her hands, ready for battle.

“You are,” I confirmed. “All right, then. Let’s save the monster.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re public figures.”
> 
> “We are,” he agreed. “But I am a greedy man, Alina. There are some parts of you that I refuse to share.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More HouseOfFinches art! First, a very succinct summary of chapter 21 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1319071816338558979) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGoURcAgxDs/) and then a very tasteful but spicy NSFW scene from chapter 18 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1319650199409741825). Thank you so, so much! Every time there is new art for this fic Santka Alina's halo glows a little brighter. ♥
> 
> Graphic for chapter 22 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/632790821324898304/were-public-figures-we-are-he-agreed-but).

Natalia was returned to me dazed but otherwise none the worse for wear. She had never been that superstitious before, and she was still skeptical now. “I feel very relaxed,” she said as we climbed into the black car the _oprichnik_ had summoned for us. “I think Madame Lola must be a Fabrikator, or know one. Something in the incense… or maybe she’s Corporalki and slowed my heart rate. It wouldn’t be a bad trick.”

“Mm,” I said noncommittally. I did not share her sense of relaxation. There was too much on my mind. “What did she see in your future that was so urgent?”

“The usual stuff,” Natalia said with a melodic sigh. “That I’d meet a tall and handsome man. That we’d be very happy together. That I’d live a long life. I mean, she could see I was Grisha, but it was nice to hear.”

That was a relief to me; it told me that whatever Zoya’s rebellion meant to do, they didn’t have any plans to target innocent bystanders. I imagined it was even more of a relief to Natalia. In the Darkling’s palace, she lived her life constantly looking over her shoulder. It wasn’t fair. She might be keeping an eye on me, but she’d never done anything really wrong aside from place her trust in the wrong person.

Natalia frowned. “There was something else, something strange. She told me to keep a bag packed because I’d be taking a trip soon.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had that kind of time off.” She looked out the car’s tinted windows. “It might be nice to see the sea again.”

“The Darkling said that after the centennial celebrations, he and I might leave Os Alta for a while.” That seemed up in the air now that I was planning to betray him, but I pressed on. “Maybe you could come with us. Or maybe I’ll decide to temporarily release you from your duties so you can go wherever you want.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide. I couldn’t tell if she was shocked or delighted. Maybe she didn’t even know. “Would you really do that?”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “After a week of parties, I doubt I’ll want to be seen by anyone again for at least five years.”

“But who will do your hair?”

“I spent seventeen years doing my own hair. I’ll manage.”

Natalia did not seem to find that particularly comforting. But she looked down at her hands in her lap. “You’re good, you know,” she said quietly.

“I guess everyone must think I’m a living Saint for a reason,” I said, trying to be flippant to hide the hole in my heart.

“But you really are good,” she insisted, picking her head up. “It’s not just what they say. You’re a good person. You have a good heart.”

I smiled weakly. “So do you.”

Her eyes slid away from my face again.

“Natalia.” I reached over to squeeze one of her hands. “You do.”

“How can you say that?” she asked, her voice a thready whisper. “I’ve— I’ve opened your correspondence. I was the one who told the Darkling what kind of books you asked for. That you weren’t taking dinner in your rooms. He’s asked for less over time, but everything he asked for, I gave him.”

“You don’t have a choice, do you?” She sighed, and I squeezed her hand again. “I already told you, I don’t hold it against you.”

“I wish I didn’t have to choose,” she admitted, squeezing my hand back. There were tears in her eyes.

I thought of everything I knew. My imminent decision to aid the rebel Soldat Sol against my own husband, with unknown consequences. Zoya’s choice to keep fighting even in an unfamiliar world, one where hope seemed a faraway prospect. Genya choosing me over the Darkling, with dire consequences for her. Mal choosing to die by his own hand on the Fold.

“We all have to make hard choices,” I murmured, and I, too, looked out the window.

* * *

I thought it would be difficult to go to bed with the Darkling after learning what I’d learned from Zoya. I guess part of me wanted it to be, because I should have rightfully been experiencing more of a crisis of conscience. But it wasn’t.

He was waiting for me when I returned to my rooms, lounging in one of my comfortable armchairs. “How was your afternoon out?” he asked me. “You feel distressed.”

Silently, I cursed myself for not having learned how to master my traitorous heart. He was a cool river on the other side of our bond. I took a breath, steadied myself. “There was some excitement,” I said, pulling off my gloves and shedding my coat. “You heard about the business with the fortune teller.”

“Oh, did I.” He raised his brows. “ _Children_?”

I found myself blushing. “I wanted to be left alone to have my fortune told, but that didn’t seem a queenly enough reason. I’d never met a fortune teller before, and this one knew Natalia’s name.”

“Yes, I keep forgetting how amusingly sheltered you are.” He cocked his head, as if searching for traces of a lie on my skin. “You didn’t meet one today. A real Suli fortune teller would never indulge in such spectacle, the smoke and theatrics. She probably overheard you say Natalia’s name and wanted to get your attention.”

“I figured, but it was a fun adventure. Apparently we will have _many_ healthy children, with your dark hair and my smile.” I walked over to him and placed my hands on his shoulders. It was so easy. Too easy. His handsome face turned up to mine, and I traced my fingers down one of his pale scars. I wanted to forget everything I’d learned today and lose myself in the grey fog of eyes. “I took your suggestion. I did eat some street food.”

“How was it?”

“Good.” I let myself sigh as he settled his hands on my hips. “Familiar. You should come out sometime. Mingle with your subjects. If you wear a hat, no one will recognize you.”

“Yes. Yours is very charming. Although…” He frowned. “That is a short dress.”

I placed a knee on the seat of the armchair. “Is that a problem?”

Without missing a beat, he took one hand off my hip to run it up my stockinged thigh. “Not now that you’re out of the public eye.”

“We’re public figures.”

“We are,” he agreed. “But I am a greedy man, Alina. There are some parts of you that I refuse to share.”

“Which parts are those?” I asked, my voice more strained than I wanted it to be.

He hooked his fingers in the elastic band that kept my stocking from slipping down my leg. Instead of answering my question, he decided to show me.

* * *

That wasn’t the time to ask. For one, I thought the timing might be suspicious. If I came back from a visit to Os Alta and immediately said _Oh, by the way, the fortune teller’s assistant wanted me to ask after Nikolai Lantsov — would you mind turning him back into someone capable of speech?_ the Darkling would probably keep me locked up in the palace forever. Or he would try. An eternity to set my mind to the task of escaping would probably allow me to crack that particular walnut, just not fast enough for me to be of any use to anyone.

But after we’d finished our afternoon tryst, he rose from my bed and began to dress.

“Got somewhere to be?” I asked around a yawn. The sunlight outside had deepened to a marigold hue, and I was feeling sated and sleepy.

“I’m dining with some of the Grisha generals in the Little Palace tonight,” he said, fastening the clasps of his _kefta_. “You’re welcome to join us, Alina.”

“The work is never done, is it?”

“The work is never done.”

“I’d love to join,” I said honestly, turning onto my side so I could watch him dress. Somehow, I never tired of the sight of him tugging his cuffs into place. A few weeks ago, I’d have leapt at the opportunity to dine with him and the generals, but I had other plans. “But this is the last weekend I’ll have to myself before the centennial. Besides, someone’s tired me out.”

He glanced in my elegant mirror, using his hands to smooth back his hair. “If this is enough to tire you out, I’m not sure how you’ll survive our visit to lake country.”

I sat up. “Is that where we’re going? Lake country?”

“Would you like that?”

“I’ve never been.” I knew the Lantsovs used to spend their summers there. It must be a beautiful place. I felt a pang. I might not get to go now. I busied myself by propping up one of my knees under the sheets and resting my chin on it. “Should I be afraid of what you’ll do when you truly have me alone?”

He let out a low laugh and walked back to the bed, sitting down next to me. “It would only be fair. I often wonder during the night whether you’ll change your mind and stick a dagger in my back.”

His tone was light, but his eyes were serious. I couldn’t have him suspecting me. I remembered the echo of his cool voice, asking me to drop the knife. Then again, this was nothing out of the ordinary for us. I peered up at him through a messy curtain of white hair and asked innocently, “Would that kill you?”

The Darkling pushed some of my hair out of my face. “It would certainly hurt.”

“Maybe you should remember what it’s like to bleed once in a while.”

“My Alina,” he murmured. “My little warrior Saint.”

He leaned over to brush his lips against my forehead, the barest kiss, then stood and left. I looked after him for a long while before standing, stretching, and going to run myself a bath. His evening engagement would give me the freedom I needed to go see the monster, and I wanted to be as clean as possible when I went down to the cellar.

I’d found that no matter how hard I scrubbed, the monster could still smell the Darkling. It was no different tonight, even though I’d also brought him veal, which I was _sure_ smelled more strongly than I did. He still growled when I reached the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s just me,” I said. I was growing more than a little tired of this. I was perfectly capable of feeling guilty all on my own. It set in as soon as the Darkling left, every time. How could I feel so blissful in one moment and so stained the next? I tossed the monster his veal, then wiped my hands on a cloth napkin to get rid of the juices.

The monster was always in a better mood once he’d eaten. I crouched by the bars and waited for the sounds of chewing to cease; he tended to retreat to the shadows to sup now, and if I cast too much light he hid behind one of the rotting shelves until I left. But once it was quiet, he walked back into the circle of light and flopped down with a discontented huff.

“I know,” I said. I held out my hand, keeping clear of the bars. “I practically bathed in perfume before I got here. See? Just me.”

His nostrils flared, and then he picked up his head. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” I asked. I raised my wrist to my own nose and sniffed. Rose petals again. “I thought it was nice.”

The monster turned his face upward and inhaled, like he was trying to scent something on the air. I had no idea what it might be.

Pushing down my hesitancy, I asked, “Nikolai?”

The monster looked at me, cocking his head like he was hearing the notes of a familiar song and trying to recall its name.

“Nikolai,” I said a little louder, then tried, “Your Highness?”

The monster set his head back down on his arms and let out a low, mournful sound, like nothing I’d ever heard from him before.

“I know,” I said, trying to reassure him. “I know.” And I wasn’t sure what I knew, what this thing was that I thought we both knew — maybe it was to wake up every day feeling lost, or to not have the right to your own name. But I told him something that I did know for certain: “I’m going to fix it. I swear.”

Because I might not have been sure of much, but I was certain that was the right thing to do. Even if I wasn’t sure yet how I would do it.

* * *

I didn’t have another chance to petition the Darkling for a while. Work, the kind I couldn’t neglect, kept both of us too busy. But to my surprise, after I spent a few long nights buried under memorandums, he came to me.

I was making better use of my study than I ever had before. My desk was covered in papers, and I worked in low light, casting a glow from one palm when I needed more. I didn’t even realize he had slipped into the room until he placed his hands on my shoulders. “It’s past midnight, Alina,” he murmured. “That’s late for you. Put your pen down.”

“Look who’s asking me to take a night off,” I said, leaning back in my chair. I turned my face up toward his.

“Such mockery when all I want is to take my wife to bed.”

“I’m being bombarded with last-minute requests. I have to review the new orders for the florists, approve napkin foldings—”

“Your work will be here in the morning.” He leaned over the back of my chair, his dark hair falling over his brow. “And you’re no good to anyone underslept.”

I sighed and stood, stretching and straightening my nightdress. Then I turned around to face him, leaning against the edge of my desk as he pushed the chair away. “Somehow I don’t think it’s my sleep you’re so worried about.”

“Why is that?”

“You never cared when I was having nightmares.” I traced the golden embroidery on the lapels of his black dressing gown. “Or walking around the palace late doing who knew what…”

“You’re wrong,” he said, drawing closer. “I’m very preoccupied with how you spend your nights.”

And with that, he pushed me back onto the desk. The winter nightgown I wore swept the floor even when I was standing, so I helped him gather it up over my hips. My head thunked back against the polished mahogany as his fingers sank into me. _I was supposed to be doing the seducing_ , I thought, but I’d done too much thinking and didn’t want to think anymore. I closed my eyes and let the rhythm of his body carry me out to sea.

Later, when my hands were tangled in his hair and my legs knotted around his waist, I said, still breathing hard, “I think you should probably carry me back to my room.”

He nodded and gamely scooped me up, one arm looped around my back, one under my knees. I tucked my head under his neck, much like I had those months ago when he carried me out of his music room, although we were both much more flushed and sweaty tonight. And this time, instead of leaving me to my restless dreaming, he stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed next to me, gathering me against him.

“What’s this?” I asked sleepily. “You’re not worried I’ll try to kill you overnight?” It was meant to be a joke, but I had to push aside a faint twinge of guilt. I didn’t want him sensing that I was about to betray him.

“Not right now, but I would welcome the attempt.” He fit me against him so easily, like I was the missing piece of his puzzle. “Keep me on my toes, Alina. Keep me young.”

I stifled a yawn against his shoulder and pressed closer, my body flooded with strength and certainty. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not feeling very murderous.”

“Then I’ve done my job.”

I slept next to him, untroubled by nightmares. And when I woke up, like so many other times, he was already awake, already watching me.

“Why do you do that, Aleksander?” I asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Why do you always look at me like that?”

“Can I not look at my wife?”

“Your wife,” I scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve been married before.”

He gently took my wrists and turned my palms up, kissing the right one, then the left. I let them glow softly, illuminating the sharp planes of his face in the soft dawn light.

“Maybe I have,” he said, tracing a finger down one. “But this time was different.”

“Why?”

“This time I knew I wouldn’t have to watch my partner grow old and rot. When I made my vows to you, I knew they would be eternal.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just took him into my arms. It seemed like the thing to do.

But as I lay under him, I wondered if that was really true. I wasn’t the woman he married, not exactly. Did the Alina I had been feel the same way about him as I did? Through reading, through talking to Zoya, I began to see the shape of the person she must have been: weary and defeated and shattered. Maybe she loved him, or part of her did. Maybe she didn’t. Aleksander had clung to her all the same. What kind of man would be satisfied making love to the ghost of a woman for years? It was pathetic.

Yet I understood, because I had been lonely for such a small sliver of time, while his lonely years stretched behind him like a dark, yawning chasm. Because sleeping next to him was better than sleeping alone. Because in that way, I was pathetic too. Who wasn’t? Who wouldn’t choose this over a bleak and empty eternity?

That didn’t make it better. But it made me know him better, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Knowing him in that way was not comfortable. Easier to think of him as monstrous, as someone who had lived so long he’d shed every vestige of his humanity.

But even the monstrous were more than that.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured, stroking my hair.

“How much I don’t know.”

“About this world?”

“About myself.” I curled into him. “That’s all.”

I knew this was the moment. With how busy we both were, I might not get a chance to ask him about the monster before the centennial. But I was reluctant. The girl in me wanted to cling to the fragile peace I’d found with him, the peace that rarely held outside of our bedrooms. Still, it felt like _some_ thing. If it were only my heart at stake, or my life, I might bend to it.

“I can’t always figure you out,” he admitted. “Even when I think I have, I don’t know what you want.”

I hardly knew that myself. “I just want something real,” I said slowly. “And it can’t be real if I’m missing pieces.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Your memories.”

I nodded.

His hand rubbed circles on my back. “I’ve given you books, your drawings,” he said. “If it were safe to try again with the Corporalki, I would. But I don’t want to destroy what you have left. Even with the advances we’ve made with _parem_ , memory is an imprecise art.”

I breathed in. I breathed out. “What about the monster?”

His hand stilled.

“The monster in the cellar,” I pressed, but gently. “The one you called my friend. I found his face in my sketchbooks. He’s no monster, is he?”

“He is what he is.”

“He knew me,” I said. “The first time he saw me, he quieted down. I must have known him. Maybe if I could talk to him—”

“No. Absolutely not.” His smooth voice had a sharp edge, like fractured glass.

“Do you trust me so little?”

“It isn’t you.” The Darkling pressed his hand to my cheek, and I leaned into his palm. “He has a sharp tongue and a fox’s instinct for self-preservation. If his sanity is intact — which is not guaranteed — he’d try to poison you against me with lies.”

“Who is he?” I asked quietly, even though I already knew. “What is he guilty of?”

“He is Nikolai Lantsov, Ravka’s last prince,” came the reply. I let him feel my authentic surprise; he gave the name up so easily. Although I noticed he said _prince_ while Zoya had said _king_. “If it were only a matter of bloodlines, I would have had him share his family’s fate. But he led a rebellion against me. He’s guilty of treason, of terrorism.”

“No more guilty than I am, then.”

The Darkling sighed and rolled onto his back, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at the ceiling. “He tried to lure you away from me with a proposal of marriage.”

I propped myself up on one arm. Zoya had not mentioned this. “We were _engaged_?”

“You didn’t accept.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.” I flapped my hand dismissively. “Unless you’re the only person allowed to propose to me.”

He shot me a derisive look.

I felt like I had the advantage now. I had to press it. “Kribirsk helped me remember some things. Very little, but there are fragments coming back to me even now. Talking to someone who _knew_ me during that missing time… who knows what it would bring up?”

“ _I_ knew you,” the Darkling whispered. “Is that not enough?”

I said nothing.

At last, he gave a great sigh. “After the centennial I can—”

“No, now.” I tamped down on a bolt of panic. “Before we leave the capital. So you and I can talk. Really talk.”

“Alina, you are far too busy for revelations, and he may be in no state to hold a conversation.”

“Best he start his recovery now, then.”

He looked at me for a long time, and I was sure he would refuse me or pepper me with suspicions. But he didn’t. “You always have been stubborn,” he said at last. “Meet me in the cellar in ten minutes.”

I blinked. “So soon?”

“You said now, so it will be now.” He pushed up from the bed to go dress. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

I threw on my _kefta_ as quickly as I could and beat the Darkling down to the wine cellar. But when I got there, the cell door was already unlocked and two men were standing behind the steel bars: one was Felix, the deputy palace steward and keeper of the keys, and the other wore the purple robes of a Fabrikator and was holding an empty syringe.

The monster — Nikolai — sat between them, blinking at me in glassy-eyed confusion. They must have given him some kind of sedative so Felix could wrestle what seemed to be a collar around his neck. He held a leash in his hands, but Nikolai was barely tugging at it, although I did see him turn his head to nibble it in curiosity.

I stopped short of the bars, unsure of where I fit into this odd equation. “Hello, my friend,” I said quietly. Nikolai immediately stopped his nibbling to cock his head at me.

“The leash is yours, _moi soverenyi_ ,” Felix said, presenting it to me with an obsequious bow.

I stepped into the cell with caution. Nikolai certainly seemed calm, but he was larger than me and those teeth and claws were sharp. “Is that wise?”

Felix shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

I took the leash from him. I supposed if Nikolai tried to escape, I could always confuse him with light. For once, I wished my powers were a little more substantial. But I nodded to the men, and they left. Once they were gone, I walked to Nikolai and smoothed a hand over his head — his hair. I wondered what color it really was. Whatever the Darkling had afflicted him with seemed to drain him of color, leaving him rendered in whites and blacks and greys. Nikolai turned his head to nose at my hand, but didn’t try to bite me.

“What did you have to propose to me for?” I whispered. But I didn’t hold it against him. In the end, his fate was just another thing that was my fault.

“It’s time,” said the Darkling from the cellar stairs. Both Nikolai and I looked up.

Seemingly forgetting his sedation and the open door, Nikolai snarled and hurled himself at the bars, claws scrabbling against the Grisha steel. He used such force that the bars shuddered, but held. I wrapped the leash around my hand and tried to pull him back, feeling like he might yank my arms from their sockets.

“It’s okay,” I told Nikolai, willing myself to believe it. “He isn’t here to hurt you.”

“This _will_ hurt,” the Darkling murmured. I ignored him.

“ _Hey_ ,” I said a little louder, wrestling with the leash. I didn’t want to pull too hard. “Settle down.”

“Alina, if you can’t control your pet…”

“Steady,” I said, getting a hand on the monster’s back and keeping it there. “Steady.”

His nostrils flared, but that seemed to be his last burst of energy. He sat down hard and did not lunge again, even when the Darkling entered the cell and moved toward us.

“Is this your chosen champion?” he asked me, lips curling into a sneer. “This _thing_. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Gloat _later_ ,” I hissed. “He’s really strong.”

“Very well.” The Darkling covered the creature’s mouth with his hand. He didn’t move, but through the strange connection that linked his power to mine, I felt him _pull_.

Nikolai’s chest jolted. He remained on his knees, but his spine went rigid, like he was a puppet on a string pulled taut. The Darkling raised his hand, and I saw smoke stream out of the monster’s mouth and up into the Darkling’s palm. The monster let out a strangled scream, a terrible sound. The pulsing black veins that lined his body faded. The claws retracted and the fangs shrank and whitened until they were just teeth. The smoky black wings disappeared into his back.

The Darkling pulled his hand back. The man — he was clearly a man now, blonde and hazel-eyed and too thin — swayed on his knees for a moment, then fell to the ground.

“There,” said the Darkling, wiping his hand on his _kefta_ with distaste. “He’s your problem now.”

And with that he swept out, leaving me alone with my new charge.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait.” Nikolai caught my right hand as I stood and tried to go, and then stared, running his thumb over the simple golden band on my ring finger.
> 
> “Alina,” he said softly. “What did you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have another [illustration of chapter 18](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1320204223724855298) from the illustrious HouseOfFinches and what can I say but _wow_! It's very suggestive, though, so click at your own risk. 😉
> 
> Graphic for chapter 23 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/633055429382062080/wait-nikolai-caught-my-right-hand-as-i-stood).

My daily itineraries had been managed down to the quarter-hour, but now I urgently demanded my morning diary cleared and the meetings packed within rescheduled so that I could take care of my guest. Nikolai Lantsov remained unconscious as two servants clothed him in a spare white shirt and black slacks, as a Healer arrived to declare him starved but otherwise healthy, and as two _oprichniki_ arrived on the Darkling’s orders to cuff him.

“What are you afraid he’s going to do?” I demanded, blocking them from his unmoving form. “He’s been sedated.”

“Our apologies, _moi soverenyi_ ,” said one, who did at least have the decency to look a little sheepish, “but orders are orders.”

I sighed, and asked that they at least help me move him to the stairs and put a cushion under his head to keep him comfortable and out of the way while the score of servants I’d tasked with cleaning the cellars went about their work. They were doing their best, scouring the stones and removing the rotting wood shelves, but I feared there would be no removing the stench of death. It had seeped into the cracks, too deeply to be purged.

As I watched them, I sat close to Nikolai, a cup of water and some freshly baked bread ready for when he woke. Whenever that would be. I had no idea who he was, but he knew me, and if there was any chance of him emerging from his ordeal with sanity intact, a familiar face would probably help. And Ravka needed him sane. If he had frustrated the Darkling enough to warrant an eternal punishment, he was probably the right man for the job Zoya had in mind.

I wished I could remember him. He didn’t have an easily forgettable face. Even with his face a little too thin and his blond hair unruly, he still had strong, handsome features. Different from the Darkling — who was certainly also handsome but might be better described as _beautiful_ — and, I realized with a pang, from Mal, who had always looked like he would be completely at home roughing it in the woods. Nikolai Lantsov looked like a prince from a storybook, aside from his nose, which seemed like it had genuinely been broken once. Princes didn’t brawl, but this one did. He looked young, too. Maybe in his early twenties.

Nikolai stirred, his eyelashes fluttering, and I nearly jumped, caught in the act of staring at him. Then he tried to sit up, but, lacking the strength, slumped sideways, leaning heavily against me. He groaned and tried to bring up his hands, then felt the heavy metal cuffs, and blinked, finally opening his eyes.

He first saw the cuffs, then his cruelly scarred hands, and then me. “Alina?” he asked. His voice was raspy.

I had prepared for this. “Drink,” I said, picking up the cup of water and holding it to his lips.

He swallowed down a mouthful of water, then raised his hands to hold the cup himself. His fingers were marked by faint black lines where claws had erupted through his skin. They shook, and I kept my hand on the base of the cup to steady it.

Once he’d drained it dry, I took my hand away. I tried to give him the bread, but he waved me off.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry for a good long while,” he said. His voice was a little stronger now. He looked toward the cellar.

I asked quietly, “How much do you remember?”

“Not much.” He paused. “Enough.”

That pause spoke volumes, and my chest ached for him. “Still, you should eat,” I said, handing him the bread, which was wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Nikolai tore off a piece, sniffed it as if out of habit, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, but it seemed to take a lot of effort. He took the rest of the bread from me, re-wrapped it, and set it aside, letting his manacled hands drop between his knees. “Do you have anything stronger than water?”

“ _Kvas_?”

“Brandy,” he said. “Good brandy. A cask of it.”

“We probably have one somewhere, but since you were just sedated I think you should stay away from drink.”

He frowned. “That’s annoyingly sensible.”

“You’re not the first person to call me annoying,” I said, resting my elbows on my knees. “‘Sensible’ is a new one, though.”

Nikolai fought himself for a moment, then sagged against my side again, like he was tired of holding himself up. I tensed, just for a moment — he was still a near stranger. He felt it and picked up his head.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned. “Aside from, well, everything.”

My mouth went dry. I’d been dreading this. I swallowed, then admitted, “I’m missing memories. I don’t remember— as far as I know, we’ve never met.”

“But that—” He frowned harder, creases forming between his brows. Even drugged and sluggish as he was, I could see a spark of cleverness in his hazel eyes. He was processing what I said without so much as an argument. “Was that your punishment?”

“My… punishment?”

“For rebellion. The Darkling didn’t turn me into a flesh-hungry monster and stash me in the palace cellar for fun. At least, I don’t _think_ he did.”

I let out a wet chuckle.

“What?”

In an odd reversal, I found myself as someone else’s anchor. I couldn’t let him see how brittle I was, how his familiarity with me was pushing me strangely close to breaking again. “You’re— funny.”

A flicker of surprise passed over his face, before he said, “So I’ve been told.”

“I was afraid you’d be mad.”

“I should be so lucky,” he said, looking back out at the palace servants scrubbing years of crusted blood and mildew off the cellar stones. “Although my sanity has always been in question. Depends on who you ask.”

I turned my face away from him, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I still didn’t remember him and very much wished I did. It wasn’t fair. He was easy to talk to. “It wasn’t punishment,” I said. “It was an assassination attempt. Not even mine.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Surely if your memory is going to be erased, it should be during your _own_ assassination attempt?”

Despite myself, I smiled. “You’re taking this all in stride.”

“No point in doing otherwise.” He shrugged easily, then massaged his throat. Something in his bravado seemed a little forced, but I wasn’t going to point that out to him just now. “I’ll never take my voice for granted again.”

“Alina?” called Natalia’s voice. She rounded the corner above us, but paused and hung back when she saw me sitting with a shackled prisoner leaning heavily on my shoulder. “Oh— you’re wanted in the Little Palace with the Grisha council.”

I straightened. “That meeting isn’t until afternoon.”

“It’s… it’s past noon.”

“Already?” I glanced at Nikolai. I sensed that his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask me to stay, but somehow I knew he wanted that anyway. “Tell them to go on without me.”

Natalia picked at the end of her braid. “The Darkling’s joined the meeting. He insists they wait for you.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a prickle of annoyance. At least it wasn’t this senseless grief. “Of course he does.”

One of Nikolai’s hands curled around my sleeve. “You don’t have to listen to him,” he said quietly.

“He’ll make everyone’s life difficult if I don’t. Nikolai, listen to me. Please— please behave,” I said, voice breaking. I was all too aware, in the presence of this familiar stranger, of how I sounded. “Make it easy on yourself. I’ll be back to see you again soon.”

“Wait.” He caught my right hand as I stood and tried to go, and then stared, running his thumb over the simple golden band on my ring finger. “Alina,” he said softly. “What did you do?”

“What I had to, so Genya and David and the others could live.” I tugged my hand out of his. “You can’t judge me for that.”

“I can’t, and I won’t. I only—” To my surprise, he sighed, then buried his head in his hands, fingers mussing his golden hair even further. His cuffs glinted in the light of the lanterns that had been brought down to illuminate the massive cellar. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.

I blinked. “Why?”

Nikolai let out a bitter-sounding laugh. “Why not? I’m not used to failing so spectacularly.”

“It’s not your fault you were turned into a bloodthirsty monster. I—”

“Alina,” Natalia whispered, worrying her lower lip, “you need to go.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” I said firmly. “I’ve sent for a mattress and some blankets. When they let you back in your cell, try to rest.”

Nikolai picked up his head. “I’m glad you said that. I _had_ been considering doing something brazenly heroic and ill-advised, but since you’re the only friend I have left, I’ll honor your wishes.”

“Does he always talk like that?” Natalia asked.

“I’m not at my best.” He let a smile touch his lips, but it was a hollow gesture. “Usually it’s much worse. I seem to be somewhat addled. Drugged, apparently.”

“Please keep him from getting into trouble,” I whispered to Natalia as I passed her on the stairs.

“Me? But— I don’t—”

“Threaten to turn his nose blue,” I suggested. Somehow I thought that would work. “But be nice about it. He’s had a hard time.”

She looked at him with her big green eyes, and he gave her a little wave. “Who is he?”

“He’s the ghost haunting the palace,” I said, and I left to give my husband the attention he so desperately desired.

* * *

I cursed Zoya for picking the worst possible time to change Nikolai back. The centennial might give her the cover she needed to remove him from the palace, but it was also draining away all of the time I had with him. I stole fifteen minutes here, an hour there, to go back down to the cellar and make sure he had food and water, that he was comfortable, and to bring him some of my history books or a fresh change of clothes. But I could never stay long.

The Darkling also increased his demands on my time. He began inviting me to more council meetings — meetings I needed to attend if I wanted to take a more active part in running Ravka — but I knew it was to keep me away from Nikolai.

“You can’t be jealous of a man I didn’t marry a century ago,” I told him after one meeting, once all of the ministers had filed out of the room. “I married _you_.”

“Because you had no other choice, as you have been so quick to point out,” the Darkling remarked, his voice as cool as ever. “But I have no reason to be jealous. Have you learned anything yet from the royal whelp?”

“No,” I said, with a glare. “I might if I got to exchange more than three sentences with him at a time.”

“Pity.” He adjusted the collar of his _kefta_.

“Aleksander.” That got his attention. I folded my arms. “Let’s stop this. I don’t enjoy playing the role of haranguing wife. You can’t like being my possessive husband much either.”

“Alina,” he replied, halfway out of the council room already, “you’ve barely begun to discover what I like.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that he found me in my room that night, but I was. He came to me just as I was teetering on the edge of restless sleep, unguarded enough that I didn’t tell him to go when I felt him slip under the covers beside me. I was, however, so frustrated with him for never letting me have it easy that I bit his lip when he kissed me. He more than paid me back in kind, not on my lips but my neck, my thighs.

I wish I could say I didn’t enjoy the violence of it, that in the morning I only sighed in exasperation at having to wear a high-collared _kefta_ to hide the marks, and that I didn’t run my fingers over them, wondering, shivering with remembrance.

* * *

I was the most surprised when I walked into the cellar and Nikolai took his nose out of the book he was reading to say, “You smell like him.”

I didn’t blush, at least. A sign that I was slowly becoming more worldly. I tugged the collar of my _kefta_ higher up my neck. “You can still smell him?”

“Alas, my sense of smell isn’t what it used to be.” Nikolai closed his book and set it aside. I recognized it as one of mine, the Zemeni scholar Jelani’s account of the Darkling’s rule. _Zapreshcha’ya_. “But I’ll never forget his scent. It’s… cold.”

“You can’t smell cold.”

“The monster could.” He gave me a grim smile from where he was reclining. Under my direction, a semi-comfortable cot had been procured for him, along with numerous blankets and pillows to keep him warm and prop him up. He was still shaky, and tired easily. Whatever the Darkling had wrenched from him had weakened him physically too.

But he looked much better. I’d brought Natalia down with me to give him a haircut and a shave; she had blushed the entire way through while he chatted at her, but the result was striking. And his coloring had definitely improved, although he was still far too pale. From what I had pieced together, he hadn’t seen the outside of his cell in over two years, and before that the monster mainly lived on the Fold.

“Have you walked today?” I asked. “And have you eaten?” Nikolai’s appetite was slowly returning, but he still wouldn’t touch meat of any kind. Turned his stomach, he said.

“Yes and yes. I made it about ten minutes pacing my cell before nearly falling flat on my face. A new record. You should be very impressed.”

“I am impressed.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the cellar with me, but the Darkling had ears everywhere. “We need to get your strength back. Zoya is coming to get you in just a few days.”

“Zoya?” Nikolai asked, frowning.

I was puzzled. With the way she talked about him, I wasn’t expecting him to have forgotten her. “Zoya Nazyalensky? Squaller? Gorgeous? Mean? She said she knew you.”

The frown broke. “Ah, yes. Black hair, great posture, prettier than me?”

“Well, I’m not sure I would go that far,” I joked.

He beamed at me, then the frown was back. “I don’t recall knowing her particularly well. Admiring her, certainly, but from a distance. I generally prefer that all my parts stay attached to me.”

Something told me that Zoya wouldn’t have minded the attention if it came from a king. At least, this particular king. “She said she found you again when you were the monster. That you traveled together in the Fold.”

“She may well have. My memories from that time are…” He dug around for the right word. “Let’s say incomplete. Let’s also say that I’m not sure that’s a tragedy. Still, it would have been dangerous for anyone to travel the Fold, even a powerful Grisha — present company excepted, of course. The volcra listened to me, but I’m not sure I could have kept them from feeding forever.”

I felt like I was missing something. I had the same bewildered feeling when Zoya talked about seeking me out in Kribirsk, like a piece of this whole puzzle was being kept from me.

Sighing, I sat down in front of the bars blocking off the rest of the cellar, as I had done so many times. Nikolai slid off his cot so he could sit across from me, and I did him the favor of pretending he did so gracefully. I could tell his weakness bothered him.

“Alina,” he said slowly, “do you still not remember?”

I shook my head. During our brief conversations, he’d quizzed me on a few of the adventures we’d been on together, some of which had been chronicled in my biography, some of which had not. I knew about our escape from the Darkling after I’d slain the Sea Whip, although Petyr Kostyk had been cagey about confirming that Nikolai was indeed the privateer Sturmhond, but I was entirely baffled when he mentioned how we’d stopped at a dacha where miniature fruit trees grew.

Nikolai smiled weakly. “It may be for the best. I wasn’t on my best behavior when we met, nor was I honest. Perhaps this is my chance to make a better first impression.”

Something about that niggled. “A better first impression,” I echoed.

“Well, I was wearing another man’s face while the Darkling had you dragged across a whaler in chains. Surely anything is an improv— is that so funny?”

I was laughing.

“What is it?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t stop. And Zoya said she had met me before.

“Alina,” Nikolai said, concerned. He reached for me through the bars, catching the sleeve of my black _kefta_. “One of us needs to stay sane and I’m not sure I’m in entirely the right frame of mind.”

“Right, you’re right. Sorry.” I wiped my eyes with my other sleeve. “I just— Saints, I wish I could remember you. What it was like when we were friends.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Were we friends?”

“ _Were_ we?”

Nikolai pursed his lips. “I hoped so,” he said, “but I never managed to ask you.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Not at all. I had a surfeit of friends to choose from.”

“Liar. You wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

“You catch on quickly.” Nikolai’s hand slipped to my wrist, the one free of the fetter, and he gripped it lightly, gently, a grip I could easily break if I wanted. “We were friendly enough for you to consider marrying me.”

I looked at his hand. “Some people would say that’s very friendly.”

“Those people aren’t in politics.”

I shuddered. I’d had the political marriage, cold and lonely, for the first few months of my existence here. I didn’t miss it, although I wasn’t sure how I felt about the heat I had now. I turned my hand over and slid it into his. His touch didn’t awaken anything in me, but that didn’t have to be the point. “Well, I did say no.”

“Is that what he told you?” Nikolai asked ruefully. “You didn’t say no. You just didn’t say yes.”

“‘I’ll think about it?’”

“Something like that.”

I shrugged. In truth, it hurt to look at Nikolai’s face for too long. I had no doubt that we had been friends, and I sometimes felt like I was looking straight into an alternate world where I had married him. What would that be like, to be married to a man who was charming and clever, the born politician? Would I have missed Mal as much? I could already tell Nikolai was a consummate actor, but there was warmth underneath, too. He probably would have been kind to me. Did I even know what I would do with kindness now? Or, if he were going to use me, would I have been content with the kind of using where the only strings attached were the ones that didn’t hurt when they were tugged?

As if on cue, I heard familiar footfalls on the stairs. I took my hand away and shifted to face the mouth of the cellar.

The Darkling appeared a moment later, stepping out of shadows that I was sure hadn’t been there before. It was like they had followed him down the stairs. “Alina,” he said. “You’re needed.”

“She isn’t a dog,” said Nikolai, who apparently had a stupidly brave streak. “She doesn’t need to come when called.”

“We have to approve the final parade route,” I sighed. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Ah, yes, the grand centennial. I’ll admit, I’m surprised there still is a country after a century of your rule,” said Nikolai, raising his eyebrows. “Surprised and impressed. Tell me, how much of it is desolate wasteland?”

The Darkling’s face contorted. He looked for a moment like he might raise his hand and cut Nikolai down, but his eyes slid to me. That message was clear enough. “Find me when you’re done here, Alina.” He turned and strode up the stairs, irritation ringing in his every step.

“You might have married me instead,” Nikolai called up after him. “I’d have given you far less trouble and you would have saved a lot of time.”

“Stop provoking him,” I whispered, but I was smiling.

Nikolai shrugged. “Just as well. He would have tried to remove my head from my shoulders before we celebrated our first anniversary.”

“‘Tried?’”

“I am very stubborn and remarkably hard to kill.” He grinned up at me. “Although our romance would be one for the ages, immortalized in story and song. I’d charm him eventually.”

Somehow I didn’t doubt it. I had known Nikolai for a very short time and it was already clear he could charm the bark off a tree. “Well, being his consort is no picnic,” I sighed.

He picked up my hand again and looked at it, swiping his thumb back and forth over my wrist, my pulse. The gold ring seemed dull in the low light of the cellar.

“He doesn’t hurt me,” I said, in answer to his unspoken question. “I can hold my own.”

“There are many ways to hurt someone, Alina. Sometimes it’s a slap or an insult, a broken bone. Sometimes it’s a thousand tiny cuts, a slow erosion.” Nikolai’s voice was quiet, sincere. “Don’t let him wear you down.”

I nodded. How many times had the Darkling told me he was practiced with eternity? If I grew too complacent, he would file off my rough edges. I thought back to the other Alina, the one before me, and wondered if he already had.

“I’m going to get you out,” I told Nikolai, with renewed determination. “You’ll see the sun again. I swear it.”

“Some would say that I’m looking at her right now.”

I sighed. “You had to ruin what would have been a great parting line.”

“You’ve discovered one of my few flaws, I’m afraid,” he said, with a grin. “I always need to have the last word.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are coming with us, aren’t you?” Nikolai asked.
> 
> I said nothing. I felt Zoya watching me, but she, too, was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 24 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/633236858526187520/you-are-coming-with-us-arent-you-nikolai) (it sparkles!).

The palace had been transformed for the centennial, something close to how I remembered it as the starry-eyed soldier who’d laid eyes upon it for the first time. Over the last few months, I’d seen to the refurbishment of the disused apartments on the second and third floors that would be used to host meetings and salons and small parties and to house our most distinguished guests. Swept clean and polished to shine, the entire palace seemed to glow. This was my work, and I was pleased with it.

The Darkling and I had spent the day in the throne room, greeting foreign guests and domestic magnates alike as they arrived in advance of the festivities. Even though winter had only just ceded its ground to spring, and the last gasps of cold still misted the windows, the room had quickly grown hot and stuffy, and I was not sad to see that ceremony behind us, although of course there would be more presentations in the days to come.

We’d had an hour or so to dine alone before attending a soiree hosted elsewhere in the palace by the Zemeni ambassador, and I had to admit that I valued the relative quiet. It was strange that I now felt I had to act _less_ around the Darkling than everyone else, but I knew his resentment of political games, and he knew that prolonged social exposure quickly tired me out. Neither of us had to hide how weary we were, that shared weakness of ours. We ate in silence, with me adjacent to him at the table in his small dining room, trading the occasional brushes of our sleeves, the casual bumping of knees, like we were trying to reassure each other that the other person wasn’t a phantom.

It was difficult to remember to be angry with him for all he had done, all that he would do. But I thought of Mal on the Fold, of my sketches depicting Genya’s scarred face, of Nikolai trapped for years in the cellar, his scarred hands shaking. Freeing him would begin to make things right. I wondered what else I would have to do before this was all over, if it would ever even end.

Before we headed out, I retreated to my room and took down some of the pins from my hair, gently running my fingers through it to preserve the waves. I hoped that would make it look like Natalia had tended to me. The Darkling couldn’t know I’d dismissed her that morning.

I had tried to be as casual about it as possible. While she was braiding my hair and pinning it up to resemble white roses, I asked, “Did you take Madame Lola’s advice?”

“What advice?”

“Do you have a bag packed?”

Her hands stilled. “I… do,” she said slowly. “I figured when a fortune teller gives you advice, you should probably take it.”

I nodded and leaned back. Natalia picked up her work again, but more slowly. “I was thinking you could take your vacation early,” I said. “Today, if you like.”

“But— the centennial—”

“I think you should take some of your friends,” I said, watching her reflection in the mirror. “You were just saying you wanted to see the sea. Why not go?”

Her eyes flicked up to catch mine in the mirror. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Nothing that involves you.” My voice was just as quiet. “But you shouldn’t stick around for it.”

I couldn’t tell her, of course. This way, if the Darkling’s people ever caught up with her, she could say honestly that she didn’t know what I had planned. But ignorance wouldn’t protect her if he wanted to use someone else to punish me for rebellion.

Natalia’s entire body went still. Then she threw her arms around my shoulders and squeezed tight. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Saying anything to Natalia was a risk, but I had to take it. I couldn’t have her suffering be on my conscience. Granted, I didn’t know if she’d turn around and tell the Darkling that I’d said something, but I hoped my trust in her wasn’t misplaced. As for the Darkling, he hadn’t given any indication that he knew something was wrong. We went through our day as we had planned it, with no deviations.

By nighttime, my mind was more on the clock than on the Zemeni celebration. Zoya would be making her way to Nikolai at just after one, but it was half past midnight and the party showed no signs of slowing down. If I wanted to be there to assist them, I had to find an excuse to slip away.

Part of me almost didn’t want to, though. It’s true that most of my tolerance for social events had been spent after our long day in the throne room, but the atmosphere in the salon was warm and inviting. The Darkling and I had made our rounds and were now installed in prime seats by the fire, sipping from glasses of wine only after they’d been tested for poison. I could tell he was charming a handful of diplomats as they discussed dry topics like aerial lanes over the True Sea. Even knowing what he was, it was difficult not to be drawn in by the magnetism he’d had centuries to perfect.

But more than that, I liked being among the Zemeni delegation. After what Zoya had to say about the Jurda Wars I thought our countries might be enemies, but eighty years was a long time for most people, and we found common cause worrying about Fjerda. We were allies again, and wined and dined together as allies did. The Zemeni group wore colorful clothes and played such lively music, and the easy way the ambassador’s wife smiled at her made me long to stay here forever, among people who weren’t afraid to express themselves. I wondered how we must look to them, with our traditions and our color-coded dress. A backwards people, maybe, clinging to an old world order.

The weeks of fittings I’d endured paid off, though: I was making the most of my _kefta_ tonight. It was one of the gold ones I’d come to favor, the rippling silk trailing behind me when I walked. The cut was a little lower on the shoulders than normal to display the antler collar to its full effect, which wouldn’t be useful in battle, but this was for ceremony, not combat. I had made a small sacrifice, so the clasps were black, tiny carvings of the Darkling’s symbol, his eclipsed sun. He wore my golden suns on his black _kefta_ , so it was an even trade.

We might have been well-suited to each other — we were already. If only I didn’t have a conscience.

Sighing, I let myself feel the full weight of the day’s exhaustion. The Darkling cast me a glance, and, when he had disentangled himself from his conversation, leaned over to murmur, “Are you so weary?”

I nodded, but I also let him feel that I was having a good time here, that I liked sitting next to him. For all the good it would do me later. I hid my nervousness, and hid it well.

“You should stay,” I said. “It sounds like you’re getting somewhere, and we both know you need less sleep than I do.”

A frown touched his lips. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

“No need. I know the way.” I stifled a yawn. “I’m already dreading the parade tomorrow. Out of curiosity, do you know who saints pray to?”

“I do not. Why?”

“I was hoping to make an appeal for torrential rain. A minor flood?”

He chuckled, then picked up my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, lips ghosting over my wedding band. “My Alina,” he said. “Sleep well.”

I felt something like regret when I pulled my hand out of his, and chided myself. All I was sacrificing was this illusion of comfort, and that certainly wasn’t worth Nikolai languishing in a dungeon for the rest of his life. I bid my goodbyes to the ambassador and her wife, who kissed me on both cheeks, then slipped out of the salon.

I had hoped to steal into my apartment and change into a more practical outfit, but there was no time. I began walking there, letting the guards posted at regular intervals throughout the palace get a good look at where I headed. Then, when no one was watching, I bent the light away from me and rushed for the corridor that led to the cellar.

There were fewer guards in this wing, but there were still guards. I had made sure to keep one posted outside the cellar door for show. As I stole across the marble floors as quietly as possible, I heard a clock chime one somewhere and cursed under my breath. I was going to miss the shift change. That was alright, I told myself. So long as I was there in time to provide Zoya with cover, it would be fine.

I reached the corridor just as another palace guard approached the one on duty. Not wanting to be heard, I hid behind a column and waited. I could feel the nighttime shadows reaching for me like greedy hands, as if, now that I was about to do something noble, they wanted to remind me of my hold over them.

“Shift change,” said the new guard, in a familiar voice. Her hat was pulled unusually low over her face.

The guard on duty said stiffly, “Shift change was two minutes ago. You’re at the wrong post.”

“Good,” she said. She brought up a fist, and the guard made a choked wheezing sound, like she’d snatched the air out of his lungs. As he fell to his knees, Zoya took his pistol from its holster and cracked him on the back of the head with it. He slumped, still.

As she dragged him behind the Squaller statue that overlooked the hall, I made my way to the cellar entrance. “Is he alive?” I whispered.

Zoya startled, which was strangely satisfying. She looked in my direction, but past me, and I remembered that I was invisible. “Yes, he’s alive. But you won’t be so lucky if you sneak up on me like that again.”

“Noted.” I crossed my arms, not that she could tell. “Does he have the key?”

She was patting down his uniform, frowning. “No, it isn’t on him.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can handle the bars.” In my head, I swore; the Darkling would know for sure that I played a part in this. But it didn’t matter. We only had so much time before someone noticed the absent guard. “I’ll go down. Take what you need.”

Zoya nodded and began to unbutton the guard’s jacket, and I sprinted down the cellar stairs, shedding my invisibility as I went.

Nikolai was asleep, his lantern dimmed but still glowing beside his cot, the only illumination in the cellar. One of his hands still rested on the book he’d been reading, which was cracked open on his chest. I knocked on the bars, and he jumped awake, immediately scrambling backwards.

“It’s just me,” I said, holding up my hands, casting a bright glow into his makeshift cell.

He relaxed visibly, and calm slid over his features like a mask. The pirate prince, at ease anywhere, prepared for anything. But I knew better. “Is that tonight?” he asked. “Difficult to track the days in this place. Did you know they wouldn’t bring me a calendar?”

“They want you disoriented. Stay back. I’m going to cut open the door.”

“You— ah, yes,” said Nikolai, who went to press himself flat against the wall.

I raised my hand and brought it down in a shining arc. The Cut made quick work of the bars, and the bottom half of the door began to fall to the floor. I bent down and caught it before it could clatter against the stones, then grunted as I lowered it down. It was _heavy_.

“Impressive,” Nikolai remarked, pushing off of the wall. “Although not as impressive as the time I watched you take the top off a mountain.”

“I didn’t!” I exclaimed.

“Oh yes,” he said, ducking under the bars. Then he was standing before me, and I was in the unusual position of having to look up at him. The monster had been prone to crouching, and Nikolai usually sat or reclined while we talked. “You started with the closest one, but then Mal bet you could hit the one behind it.”

“And I did,” I said softly. Because of course I had.

“And you did,” Nikolai echoed. He put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Alina.”

“About me not remembering or about Mal?”

“Either. Both.” Nikolai looked down at one of my stray locks of white hair. “We didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but he was a good man.”

“If you two are done reflecting on the good old days,” said Zoya from the top of the stairs, “we have an escape to make.”

We both looked up at her. She’d left her hat somewhere, freeing her dark hair, and had the guard’s coat and gloves in one hand and his boots in the other.

Nikolai stepped back from me and eyed the boots. “They look a bit small.”

“You can count your blisters when you’re free, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, but I was given to believe the monarchy was abolished and we have a _dictator_ now—”

Zoya shoved the clothes into his arms.

“I’ll be cloaking you,” I said as Nikolai shrugged the guard’s coat on. Zoya was avidly watching his hands, and I saw what she did; the slight tremor still in his scarred fingers. “He doesn’t need a disguise.”

“He’ll be no good to anyone if he freezes to death outside,” Zoya said. She eyed my thin silk _kefta_. “I can see you didn’t dress for the occasion either.”

“I didn’t have time.”

“She did dress for _an_ occasion,” Nikolai pointed out as he knelt to lace up his slightly-too-small boots. “It’s the thought that counts. I, personally, think it’s a lovely outfit to wear while fleeing into the night, never to be seen again.”

“What?” I asked.

“You are coming with us, aren’t you?”

I said nothing. I felt Zoya watching me, but she, too, was silent.

Nikolai stood. “Alina,” he said, reaching out to touch my cheek. It almost hurt, the way he touched me. Not like a prize, a cherished possession. He touched me like I was a person who deserved kindness. “Come with us.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve known for a long time that if I go, there’s nothing he won’t do to get me back. Besides, I can do more here.”

Zoya cast me a skeptical look. “You can’t change him.” But when she spoke, she didn’t sound surprised.

“I know I can’t, but I can help govern. He does listen to me. That isn’t nothing.”

“But will he listen after this?”

“Wouldn’t you rather have someone on the inside anyway?” I insisted. Zoya opened her mouth again, but I shook my head. “You can’t worry about me. Worry about how you’re going to get off the palace grounds.”

“Always the martyr.”

Nikolai cleared his throat. “Not to be ungrateful, but how _are_ we getting off the palace grounds?”

“I have an escape route. Alina, can you keep us invisible?” Zoya asked, and I nodded. I didn’t remember ever having extended invisibility to another person, but it shouldn’t be a problem. “Then come on.”

She raised her hand, creating a bubble in the air around us that would keep us silent to anyone outside. I bent the light away from Nikolai and Zoya, and they instantly vanished before my eyes. Even I was surprised at how well that worked, and I hastened to cloak myself as well.

“Take my hand,” Zoya said to Nikolai. “And Alina’s.” I felt Nikolai grab at my sleeve and caught his hand. “Good. Now follow me.”

Zoya was a born commander, and it wasn’t a complicated plan. We moved silently through the halls of the palace and eventually onto the grounds, without having to worry about being seen or heard by the guards. We had gotten halfway across the palace lawn, running in the direction of the Little Palace, when Nikolai’s legs gave out and he went down.

“Nikolai!” I cried. I grabbed up his sleeve, trying to get an arm around his shoulders. I brushed against Zoya, who was doing the same. Together, we managed to get him back on his feet and moving, although I felt him stumble and lean against one of us or the other.

“Seems like my strength isn’t what it used to be,” he remarked through gritted teeth. I could tell he was trying to stay calm.

“That’s an understatement,” Zoya added helpfully. “Saints, you’re heavy for someone who’s skin and bone.”

“You’re almost there,” I reassured him, then asked Zoya. “We’re going for the cover of the forest, right?”

“Yes. We can regroup there.”

“Almost there,” I repeated, although whether he needed to hear it or I did, I wasn’t sure.

Once we were safely hidden by the shadows of the trees, I stopped holding our invisibility so we could all reorient ourselves. The knees of Nikolai’s trousers were grass-stained and he looked a bit pale, but otherwise no worse for wear. When he saw me inspecting him, he gave me a tired, but charming, smile.

“Transformation,” he said. “Wreaks havoc on the constitution. Please tell me we don’t have to walk to the rebellion headquarters or safe house or wherever it is you’re taking me?”

“No,” said Zoya. “We don’t have to walk for much longer.”

Since I’d be peeling off from them soon to head back up to the palace, I transferred Nikolai to Zoya. He sagged against her heavily, and then, to her surprise and mine, pressed his face into her hair. “Why do you _smell_ so familiar?” he asked.

Zoya sighed. “We’re going to have to re-learn manners, then.”

“I’d like to see how much you retain after spending a century as a monster,” Nikolai replied, although he did lean away to give her a little more breathing room. “Although I have been informed my wits are remarkably intact.”

“Good. Otherwise I would have to leave you in the forest.”

He let out a low whistle. “If this is how you treat kings, I’d hate to see how you deal with commoners.”

“All dead weight gets equal treatment,” said Zoya, but there was a strange edge to her voice. She led him off the path to the Little Palace, deeper into the trees, and I followed them.

Nikolai leaned over and surreptitiously smelled her again. “What _is_ that?” he asked. “You smell like flowers and— and smoke. You smell like a forest fire.” Then he stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her. “It’s _you_.”

Zoya jabbed his ribs. “We’re nearly there. Move.”

He took one stumbling step, then another. Something had shaken him. “So cold. Do the nights we spent curled up together in the Fold mean nothing to you?”

“You can’t tell day from night on the Fold,” Zoya snapped, but she turned her face away from him.

Whatever I had expected when Nikolai and Zoya met each other again, it wasn’t this weird flirting. I was still missing something. I spoke up. “I thought you said you didn’t remember her.”

“No, I remember. I just didn’t know what I was remembering.” Nikolai’s tone was light, joking, as it often was, but he was now watching Zoya with such naked admiration that I was nearly knocked off my feet. She was still avoiding his gaze. “You protected me.”

“Obviously not,” Zoya said stiffly. “He took you. And you don’t owe me anything. We protected each other. You kept the volcra off my back, I kept the trackers off yours. For a time.”

“Yes,” said Nikolai. He sounded very far away. “Yes.”

Now I poked him in the back. “Please don’t lose your mind right now. We’re in the middle of an escape.”

“Right. Of course.” Then, with giddy wildness, he said, “Alina, do you know your friend is extraordinary?”

“She’s not my—” I began, just as Zoya tossed her hair and said, “Of course she does.”

We approached a break in the trees, and stopped. I shuddered. I didn’t feel safe in this clearing. It reminded me too much of where the dragon had nearly taken me all those weeks ago, or where Mal and I had found Morozova’s stag, an in-between place, a liminal space. It didn’t help that the palace grounds seemed completely silent, like they were waiting for something to happen. Like water draining away from the shoreline before a tsunami strikes.

Nikolai must have been thinking something similar. “Not to alarm anyone,” he said, “but has this jailbreak been going just a tad too smoothly?”

“Do you smell anything?” I joked quietly, but half of me meant it, desperate for reassurance against the dead, eerie night. Even Zoya looked shaken as she squinted into the darkness.

“No—” Nikolai began to say, but then a gentle breeze stirred his hair, and his eyes widened. “Yes,” he said. “Ah— yes I do. I think it would be best if we found another clearing _immediately_.”

I was listening for it before I knew what I would hear: that clear voice, cool as glass. “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that,” said the Darkling, stepping out into the clearing, one shadow separating himself from the rest. He was still wearing his _kefta_ from the salon, as I was. The golden suns on his clasps shone in the moonlight, mocking me.

I heard rustling from behind us; the _oprichniki_ in their dark uniforms blended right in with the trees, but their guns were easy enough to see. Behind them were Grisha soldiers, Squallers who had muffled their footsteps as we had ours. There looked to be about half a dozen of them, men and women I recognized from our trip from Kribirsk. I felt like I was in a horrible nightmare, reliving that night with the stag all over again, the night that had seen me collared and Mal taken prisoner, nearly killed.

Someone barked at us to put our hands up, and they herded us into the clearing. An _oprichnik_ took Nikolai’s gun and forced him to his knees. He went down easily. Zoya took more convincing, and one of the Squallers physically reared back from her when she rounded on him, seeing some ferocity in her face that I couldn’t. But then the _oprichnik_ with his gun trained on Nikolai thumbed off the safety, sending an audible _click_ through the clearing. Zoya relented, although she practically hissed when she was cuffed.

No one touched me.

“ _Moi soverenyi_ ,” said another _oprichnik_. “It would be the wise thing to get on your knees.”

I stayed where I was, tilting my chin up in defiance, my eyes only on my husband.

But the Darkling knew me well. “Are you so eager to watch your friends die?” he asked, leaning casually against a tree.

I stepped in front of Nikolai. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“So brave,” he said, shaking his head. “So foolish. On your knees, Alina. You’re surrounded. I could order them shot before you even raised your hand to cut me down.”

Still glaring at him, I got on my knees. But I was not cuffed. I didn’t know if that was because the Darkling didn’t think I’d attack or because it would just be a bad look. I kept my hands where he could see them.

He moved his gaze. “Zoya Nazyalensky,” he said. “Such a shame. There was a time I would have welcomed you back with open arms.” Then he cocked his head and asked, “Tell me, when you killed Juris, did he welcome death? Beg to be released from the burden of eternity? Or did you have to stab him in the back to take the power you so desperately craved?”

Zoya’s lip curled. “You dare—”

“Oh, I dared much more than either of you or that weak old man ever dreamed.” He turned away from her, like he’d lost interest. “And you, the long-lost prince. Granted a second life only to squander it. Do you know how many pretenders I had to kill when I took your throne?”

“At least three, I’d imagine,” said Nikolai. He sounded strangely serene.

“I wonder,” said the Darkling, stepping further into the clearing, “if killing the real thing will be more satisfying.”

“Maybe if you killed me properly the first time, you wouldn’t have had so many problems. Terrible way to run a country—”

The _oprichnik_ guarding Nikolai kicked him, and he stopped talking, doubling over and clutching his side. I winced. That was a direct hit to his kidney. After a moment, I heard him softly say, “Ow.”

“The two biggest thorns in my side, finally in one place.” The Darkling smiled. “And I couldn’t have done it without Alina’s help.”

My stomach dropped as Zoya whirled on me. The moonlight flashing in her eyes made them briefly gleam silver. “ _You_ —”

“No, she knew nothing. I had hoped capturing the monster would be enough to lure you in, Zoya, but twice you approached my _wife_ for aid.” Finally, he turned back to me. There was something terrible in his face. “Alina, some time ago you decided it would be easier to work with me than against me, didn’t you? I realized the same thing. Let you play rebel. Hand you the prince. Allow small victories. And now I can behead this futile rebellion before it even begins.”

I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner. It was the same game he’d played a century ago when he’d let me and Mal track down the stag for him. History repeated in terrible ways.

“Don’t do this,” I pleaded. The night was cold, but the tears pricking at my eyes were hot. I blinked them away. “They’re more valuable as prisoners, aren’t they? You could—”

The Darkling set his jaw. He looked furious. “I hoped to be wrong about you, you know,” he said quietly. “I hoped you wouldn’t take the bait she offered. That you wouldn’t be so stupid.”

“Aleksander,” I whispered. It was meant to be for his ears alone, but Zoya and Nikolai probably heard too. “Don’t do this.”

His face hardened, but the expression was forcibly replaced with something like triumph. “We’ll speak later.”

“What will you do?” Zoya called. “How much of her is there left for you to take? You’re lucky she doesn’t know the extent of her power—”

His focus on me broken, the Darkling stalked over to Zoya, then past her, to give an order to one of his _oprichniki_. Nikolai leaned forward and hissed, “On her signal.”

“What signal?”

“You’ll know it.”

I thought I sensed it already. A distant roll of thunder in a cloudless sky. The smell of ozone in the air, like just before a storm breaks. The Squallers felt it too, turning their heads to look up at the sky.

The Darkling, distracted by his long-sought victory, was the last to feel it. “Impossible,” he said.

“Improba—” Nikolai began.

But he was cut off by a flash of bright light. The Darkling dove out of the way just before lightning struck the spot where he stood.

Chaos erupted in the clearing as everyone was momentarily disoriented, blinded by the flash, deafened by the thunder that followed. The ground smoked. I heard a crunch behind me that I hoped was Nikolai somehow punching someone and not the other way around. Shaking my head, I blinked furiously, trying to clear the sunspots clouding out my vision. The light was supposed to be my ally.

Once I could see enough, I raised my hand, re-blinding an _oprichnik_ who was shakily pointing his gun at Nikolai. I couldn’t see Zoya. There was only an enormous shape blotting out the moon.

The dragon.

She lunged for the Darkling, but he vanished into the trees, disappearing into the safety of their shadows, and she was forced to rear back when two Squallers hit her with a heavy gust. She snorted and spat fire, which they blocked with a shield of air. The firelight illuminated her black scales — the same scales Zoya wore on her wrists.

That was what I’d been missing all along.

“How?” I yelled to Nikolai, lashing out aimlessly with the Cut. I scared a couple of _oprichnik_ into retreating as one of the trees toppled.

“No idea!” he shouted. Somehow, he had managed to slip his cuffs and steal a pistol from the guards. He got off two shots, and I could barely hear him over the ringing of my ears. “And no time. Where’s your husband?”

I was worried about that, too. Three Squallers were now working in tandem to keep the dragon — Zoya — from getting into the trees and going after him, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I cast the light into the trees, trying to smoke him out, and then I glimpsed him, the silhouette of him, far on the other side of the clearing. He was raising something to his lips. A small vial. One of two that he said he always kept on him.

“No!” I screamed. And I ran for him.

I was too late.

There was a resounding crack, unlike thunder, unlike anything I’d ever heard, and then darkness blanketed the clearing, wrapping me up in its terrible embrace. I had been caught in his darkness before, and the darkness of the Fold, but this felt different. This darkness was a writhing, living thing, like a tide of _nichevo’ya_. It was weighty. It had _texture_. It pulled at my clothes, my hair, rending the silk of my _kefta_. It called for me, its voice a terrible, seductive purr. _Alina_ , it said. _My Alina_.

I had thought the Fold was the Darkling’s will made manifest, but whatever he was calling forth with _jurda parem_ was far worse.

I held up my hands, trying to conjure enough light to beat the darkness back, but it just greedily swallowed whatever I gave it, an unquenchable thirst. I saw a flicker of flame from my left and heard the dragon roar. When I tried to scream back, the darkness seemed to stream into my open mouth, coating my throat.

Would this be it? Not for me, I knew. He would make Zoya and Nikolai die slow deaths as I watched. Then he would hunt down the rest of the rebels with whom Zoya had allied herself and kill them too. Just one more atrocity to bloody his hands with, and mine. None of this would have happened if not for me.

I kicked, I tried to yell, I called for light that wouldn’t come. If only I were stronger. If only Mal were here. I don’t know if I could have truly sacrificed him as I was meant to, but we might have stood a chance against the Darkling together. Or at least I would have been able to hold someone’s hand as my world fell apart, again.

But even as I thought it, I felt a callused hand close around my right wrist and a jolt pass through me. A touch I didn’t remember, but I knew was real. I put my hands back up to fight, and tried to hold the feel of that grip as I summoned the light, but constrained it to the boundary of my skin. It burst out from me, a dim glow but a glow all the same. Little by little, it forced the darkness back, burning its greedy fingers until they released my _kefta_ and retreated from my throat.

I looked at my own glowing hands. My left wrist, encircled by the sea whip’s scales. My right, bare. How was I doing this? Where was I finding the power?

 _You know where_ , said a voice in my head. I remembered what Zoya had said about amplifiers, that Morozova had gotten his theory wrong. _The creature takes something of you just as you take something of it. You become one, stronger together._ But that made no sense, not in this case. I hadn’t wielded the knife that killed Mal, and he hadn’t drawn blood from me.

But ever since showing the stag mercy had granted me control over my antler collar, I’d known amplifiers weren’t an exact science, hadn’t I? The exchange of power didn’t need to be a literal thing. Mal and I had given ourselves to each other willingly. And Mal may have died by his own hand, but I died that day too, the day I lost him. I had led a half-life since then, until I woke up not remembering it. I wondered if it would be enough, that exchange. Enough for me to reach past the power I already held and grab what I was missing, what I needed.

 _I’ll always find you_ , he’d said in my dream.

“Find me now,” I whispered, in the face of the devouring dark. “Protect me. I forgive you.” And, after a pause, I said, “I forgive me, too.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and pushed the light out from myself, willing it into a protective sphere to hold the darkness back. It flickered once, again. Then it held fast.

From somewhere outside, I heard the Darkling barking orders, his frustration clear. Then he called, “Alina.”

It felt like it cost me nothing to hold the bubble. Like it was easy. Like it was natural as breathing. The light was a friend, a lover, a part of me. I felt the ghost of Mal’s kiss against my hair.

“ _Alina_.” The Darkling’s voice was like a frozen lake, hard and cold with who-knew-what lurking in its depths. Like him but somehow _worse_. Was this the _parem_? “What a brave little martyr you are, Alina. But it doesn’t matter. I can multitask.”

I pushed my shield outward, blasting the darkness to pieces.

The scene in the clearing was unreal. Somehow, Nikolai had found the dragon in the dark. Zoya was trying to take flight with him on her back, but the team of Squallers was turning the air to resist her, even as she fought back, wings beating hard. They were barely containing her. The wind swept my loose hair around my face. The _oprichniki_ were trying to shoot her down, but their bullets plinked uselessly off her armored scales.

Confident now, I sent bolts of pure light in their direction, hoping to distract them. Two Squallers lost their focus, and Zoya surged forward, smoke streaming from her nostrils. I shot off another bolt, but a dark void appeared in the air to swallow it.

“Why fight?” the Darkling asked against my ear. “It’s easier to give in. You’ve felt it, Alina. You feel it whenever I hold you.”

I whirled, but he wasn’t there. Just a trick of the bond between us. I held my stance, my fists glowing.

“Too scared to face me?” I called.

“Not in the least,” he replied, striding out of the trees. He seemed to wear the writhing darkness as a cloak, trailing behind him into the shadows. I didn’t see where it ended, but I thought I saw within it eyes, wings, gaping mouths. Among it all, he moved with unnatural grace — Aleksander, my beautiful, terrible husband. With a casual gesture, he sent the living darkness toward me, and another skein, a grasping claw, out toward Zoya and Nikolai.

But I was ready. I cast the light as a shield around myself, and his darkness broke in the face of it. Almost simultaneously, I aimed the Cut at the bolt hurtling toward my friends, cutting it neatly in half and watching it dissolve before it reached them. Zoya continued to climb.

“I can multitask too,” I said. “I can do this all night.”

He frowned at me, but it was like he was seeing through me. “Little fool,” he said. “You leave me no choice. I don’t know what this will do, but I must admit, I’m curious to find out.”

I saw him raise his hand, and I knew what he was about to do even before he did it, in the same way that I was always hyper aware of him, when he walked into a room, when he stood beside me, when we touched. He was aiming the Cut at the dragon, but I felt it _catch_ , snag as if on the fabric of reality itself, and I knew that if it succeeded he’d tear a hole open that couldn’t be shut. Maybe another Fold. Maybe something worse.

So I did the only thing I could think to do. I brought my hand up too, making a Cut that would cross his. I didn’t know if it would be enough. It had to be enough.

 _Protect me_ , I thought, for any true Saints that listened, for the dead that watched.

We brought our hands down in unison. There was another _crack_ , and something knocked me off my feet. Then everything went dark.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But do you love him?”
> 
> “You live in my heart,” I groused. “Shouldn’t you know it?”
> 
> “I want _you_ to know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic for chapter 25 is [here](https://judeling.com/post/633421738422730752/but-do-you-love-him-you-live-in-my-heart-i).

The ship was calm now. The boards were no longer shuddering. I heard no thunder, no crashing waves, only the calm sea languidly sloshing against the side of the hull. The hammock’s rocking had settled into a gentle rhythm, and I was tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep. I was warm, and safe, and tucked up against someone who loved me, and I didn’t hurt anymore.

One of Mal’s hands rested gently on the back of my head, his other arm looped around my waist. Both of my hands pressed against his chest, which was whole, unbroken. Through his shirt, I strained to hear the steady beating of his heart in time with mine.

“Hi,” I said, looking up at him. “Am I dead?”

Mal shook his head and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. When he smiled, it wasn’t at all sad. “Not yet.”

I reached out to touch him. His cheek was warm against my palm, or so I thought. “Then, where am I? Where are we?”

“A dream. This is how you remember me.” He placed one of his hands over mine. He felt so alive. “I told you, I’ll always find you.”

“Then you… then I did take your power. Just not in the way I was meant to. It merged with me in a way that the stag’s and the sea whip’s didn’t?” Even as he nodded, I thought of Zoya and her dragon scale cuffs. “But I don’t have a part of you. I don’t carry you with me.”

“You have this.” He tapped his chest, where a living boy’s heart would be. “And you carry it with you wherever you go. I’m part of you now.”

“Well, that’s not awkward at all.” I felt myself blush and wanted to curl up into a little ball. “I think if I’d known you were in here I would have made some different choices.”

“Oh. _That_.”

“That,” I echoed.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled about it. But I keep telling myself you deserve comfort.” He paused. “Whatever form that takes. Even if it’s…”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mal.”

He went quiet. “Do you love him?”

I ignored him, and my discomfort, in favor of a more pressing question. “Did my friends get away?”

“They did. They’re on their way to a safehouse. No one raised the alarm, and Zoya flies faster than any ship in Ravka’s air force. They’ll make it.”

“Good.” I settled my head back down on his chest, fingering his shirt collar. “Anyway, he’s awful. He tried to kill my friends.”

“But do you love him?”

“You live in my heart,” I groused. “Shouldn’t you know it?”

“I want _you_ to know it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever love someone like I loved you,” I admitted. “I don’t think— I don’t think I’ll ever have something that easy again. And before you say it wasn’t always easy, I know that. I pined for you for _years_. But it felt like breathing. It felt natural.” I rested my cheek against his chest so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “Loving him feels like drowning.”

When Mal spoke, he sounded unsurprised. “Something tells me you’ll be able to keep your head above water.”

“I was never a strong swimmer.”

“Sure, but you’re the most stubborn person I ever met.” He smiled. “If anyone can manage, it’s you.”

It was so nice to be here, to not have to worry about anything. I hated him a little for making me talk about this, for making me leave. “Part of me’s always loved part of him, even through everything. But— loving him means never giving in. It means resisting, not enabling. Keeping him from doing his worst. Baghra learned that the hard way. I guess now I know it too.”

“You can’t control his actions.”

“You sound just like Zoya,” I scolded. “And I know. But I can control mine. If I can save or better a life for every life he takes, then maybe I do balance the scales.” I paused. “Do you think I could persuade him to abdicate?”

Mal said nothing.

“Yeah, I thought so. I wish you weren’t quite so all-knowing, it’s very annoying.” _I wish you weren’t quite so dead._

He stroked his hand down my hair. It was white, I noticed. Not brown, as it had been when we’d sailed the True Sea together. “You make him feel human, you know,” he said. “He resents that. He stays up at night just watching you, wondering how you got under his skin. I could tell him that’s just the way you are, but he doesn't deserve to know that. Let him stew.”

I closed my eyes. “Saints, I miss you.”

“You don’t have to. Whenever you call the light, remember that I’m in it. That my heart is yours.” He kissed my forehead. “That I love you, Alina.”

 _It isn’t the same_ , I wanted to tell him. But it didn’t matter. “I love you, too. It isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t?”

That it was never our time. That I couldn’t rest yet. That a scarred heart like mine should always be pulled between what I know is right and what I want. That nothing was ever easy.

“I was kind of hoping I’d get to see you fight the Darkling,” I deflected. “I mean, girls fought over you all the time. No one ever fought over me.”

Mal laughed. The most beautiful song I ever heard. “You have no idea. Ready to wake up?”

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tight. “No.”

“Sorry,” he said. “People need you.”

For once, I didn’t blink back my tears. “But what about what I need?”

“You have everything you need, Alina. Your will, your integrity. Your snark. Your brand of charm. Someone you care about, even if he isn’t worth it. And your friends, who are coming for the throne. Make sure it’s ready for them.” He nudged me. “And look up.”

I looked up, and I realized we weren’t on the _Verrhader_ anymore. I saw apple boughs rich with white blossoms, the stars shining down at me through glass walls, the soft glow of lantern light on a reflecting pool. I didn’t remember this place, but I knew it. I reached up as if to touch the flowers, but they were too high above us.

“Apple trees,” I whispered.

“You’ve always got me,” he said. “And you can come here whenever you want. I’m just as much a part of you as the dragon is of Zoya, although I don’t think you can become me.”

“That’d really be something.” A petal broke away from one of the blossoms and floated down into my open palm. I closed my hand around it. It was soft, delicate. Lifelike.

“Time to go home,” Mal said quietly.

I turned my face to his. “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “I’m home already.”

* * *

I woke up first, my body aching, my fingertips numb.

Blinking, I picked up my head. My vision blurred, then sharpened. Already, weak grey light showed through the trees, their bare branches budding with new leaves. Dawn was beginning to break.

One of my hands was closed into a fist. When I uncurled my fingers, I saw the single white petal still resting in my palm, slightly crushed. I smiled to myself, then slipped it into the pocket of my torn _kefta_. There was a lot I still didn’t understand about Grisha power, about the way my world worked. But I knew one thing, something the Alina who came before had been too despondent to see: like everyone who grieved, I carried my lost loved ones with me wherever I went. I just did it a little differently.

And not everyone was lost to me.

Aleksander lay a few feet away on his stomach. For a moment I wasn’t sure if he was breathing and my own breath caught in my throat, all sorts of strange feelings mingling together. Then I saw the faint movement of his chest, the contraction and expansion of his ribs, and sighed.

I crawled over to him and grabbed his shoulder, turning him onto his back. Mud streaked his near-perfect face. A clod of dirt was caught in his hair. Already there was a wrongness to him, shimmering in the air around him. The _parem_ was wearing off, which meant addiction was setting in.

I could let him die like that. It was probably kinder than he deserved. His own power would eat through him until it and the craving for the drug consumed him completely. He would be miserable. Still, I found my hand searching his _kefta_ , feeling for the pocket where the antidote should be. I withdrew the vial, full of green liquid, and considered it.

Leaving him as he was might save lives. Or another of his _oprichniki_ on patrol might come along in a few minutes and administer the antidote anyway. And what would happen if I went back to the palace alone? Could I fake my way through the centennial by myself, or would the assembled diplomats smell blood in the water? If I had to, could I run the country on my own? I genuinely didn’t know, and in my position, not knowing was fatal.

“What a mess you’ve made, Aleksander,” I murmured. But I looked at his face, and I knew I had already made my choice. This was not the way he would die.

 _Mercy_.

I opened his mouth and emptied the vial’s contents into it.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then I felt the wrongness begin to recede. His eyes opened, the same color as the morning twilight. “Alina,” he said. He sounded both furious and somehow fond.

Then he coughed, turned over, and, pressing up onto all fours, retched up a thin stream of rust-colored bile.

This was probably a good sign, but I pushed back from him anyway. He blinked a couple of times, as if shocked, before dry-heaving again. Grisha weren’t supposed to get sick, so this was probably the first time he’d thrown up anything in centuries, if ever. Lucky him.

“You owe me,” I said, crossing my arms.

He sat up slowly, moving like he felt the same pain I did, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his _kefta_. Good thing it was black. His eyes narrowed. “Twice the dragon has escaped me because of you,” he said. “And now she has the Lantsov pup. I owe you very little.”

“I just saved your life,” I pointed out. “And I kept you from tearing a hole in the fabric of reality. That’s not nothing.”

He shook his head. “The Squallers?”

I kicked myself. I’d forgotten completely that there were other people in the clearing. I hadn’t looked for the Squallers or the _oprichniki_. “I… don’t know. Why hasn’t anyone come to investigate?”

“They were under orders not to interfere. The night and the trees lent cover for the battle. It was—” He sighed. “—if not a foolproof plan, at least one that should have been difficult for you to foil.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m stronger than I knew.” I frowned. “Did _you_ know?”

“I knew there was something. The energy from Morozova’s third amplifier had to have gone somewhere.” His glass voice was no longer jagged with anger. I realized he liked discussing theory with me. He cradled his forehead in his hand. “Apparently it had burrowed so deeply inside of you that your grief hid it completely. Another miscalculation on my part. You still shouldn’t have been strong enough to defeat me, not with _parem_.”

“Maybe you wanted me to,” I suggested. “Maybe you like it when I beat you.”

He cocked his head at me. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Come, we still have to face the day.”

I almost flopped back down on the cold ground. “Must we?”

“The world doesn’t stop turning just because we demand it.”

I knew that well enough. So I reached for him, and he for me, and together we got to our feet. As morning dawned, we trudged back to the Grand Palace, leaning on each other.

When we stumbled into the hallway that led to our rooms, he began doling out orders to whomever would listen: wake Healers to see to both of us; search the woods for the missing Grisha and _oprichniki_ ; do not let a word of this reach the foreign delegations — if anyone heard the crack in the middle of the night, it was merely from a Fabrikator experiment with blasting powders.

Then he looked at me and said, “We’ll talk over breakfast, Alina.”

It might have been an order or a warning, but I was too weary to ask further questions. I staggered to my room, where I was greeted by a pair of attendants who scrubbed the evening’s dirt off me in a hot bath and brushed the snarls out of my hair. The Healer who came mended my scrapes and took the soreness from my muscles. Natalia did not come.

I arrived in Aleksander’s small room clothed in a fresh _kefta_ , another of the gold ones. He sat at the table, also fully dressed, watching me closely. But I was tired, and I knew he was too. There were no servants, so I poured myself tea and then sat without caring about how it looked to him.

“Your hair is loose,” he remarked.

“I like it that way.”

“And your Tailor is nowhere to be found.”

I made myself drink the tea and swallow, not allowing myself the smile that tugged at my lips. “I told her to take a vacation.”

“Generous of you.” He was eyeing me, sitting almost sideways in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. “What will I do with you, Alina? There’s now a vacant cell in the palace cellar. I believe you know it well.”

I shook my head. “You can’t stash me down there. I was ‘taken ill’ and out of the public eye just six months ago. The people will be restless. They’ll begin to suspect you. It’s not like they’re fond of you to begin with.”

He did not wince at the cold truth, only watched me.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked calmly. I now had nothing to lose, after all. My friends had all escaped, and the ones who hadn’t were always with me. “Have them wipe me again?”

Aleksander only set his elbow on the table so he could cradle his forehead with his fingers. Eyes closed, he said, “Ah.”

It was an educated guess, but a guess all the same, yet he didn’t even bother denying it. I pressed my advantage. “Did you think I would never find out?”

“What gave it away?”

I didn’t want to name Zoya or mention that she said we’d met before. “Something Nikolai said about better first impressions,” I said instead. It was true enough. “You didn’t get a real do-over, but you erased a century of baggage. I knew enough of what you were, so you… you showed me other parts of you that I’d like. And I’m sure the story you invented about rogue scientists would have been a great excuse to go to war with Shu Han.”

“Is that why you think I did it?” he said softly, his head in his hand. “That was all cover and making the most of the poor hand I was dealt. No, Alina. Zoya compromised you. She sought you out. She told you where to find the monster.”

That wasn’t what I had expected. “What?”

“You were discovered in the cellar, trying to free him. You acted alone. I doubt she knew what she’d awoken in you. It couldn’t continue.” He looked up at me. “We had built so much together. I was only going to take two weeks from you, maybe two months. Enough to restore you to the way you were. Enough to bring back the Alina who was content again. Another miscalculation.”

Anger flared in me, and I put my hands on the table. But I wasn’t angry enough. Part of me had probably known the truth for a while and hadn’t wanted to face it, not when the comfort of his arms was so much more bearable. I also understood him, which made me feel a little ill. He’d finally found his companion. He would do anything to keep her. He probably told himself it was what she wanted, too.

It was only the rage at being violated that I let crackle in my voice, through our bond. “You can’t have her back, so what will you do? Will you wipe me out completely and have a docile, complacent wife? I don’t think you’d like that much.”

That was a gamble. He might like it very much. Aleksander just picked up his head and studied me over steepled fingers. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I would.”

My sigh of relief came out as a laugh. “So now we see each other as we are.”

“I’ve always seen you as you are.”

“No,” I replied. “But you’re seeing me now. The only way for us to relate as equals is for you to realize that I’m a person who will fight you when I think what you’re doing is wrong. Otherwise you only love a lie.”

“Thorns and all,” he mused. “And if I accept you as you are, what then? Could you accept _me_ , Alina? Would you love me?”

I blinked, but said nothing.

His grey eyes flashed. “Does your love of monsters only extend to those who are tame and eat from your palm? Or could you love me?”

My shoulders curled toward my ears, a defensive reflex. “I—”

“You don’t like to think so, do you?” With a sigh, he stood from his chair and walked over to where I sat, leaning against the table. “I stand against what you believe. You think I’m the cause of needless suffering because you haven’t learned that suffering is necessary for growth. You abhor that. And yet…”

“I won’t fall so easily.”

I wished it sounded more convincing. He gently took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up toward his. “You have loved me,” he said, his voice low. “And you will love me again.”

“Maybe,” I replied, slowly. “But I won’t stop fighting you.”

Aleksander smiled and took his hand away. “We’ll see.”

He began to leave the dining room. I turned my head and said to his back. “You must think of love as a punishment, then.”

“What?”

“To inflict it on me as retribution.” I drew a breath. This was gambling, too. “Because you so hate that you fell first.”

He grew still. Then he half-turned in my direction, looking my way without looking at me. “Little Alina,” he said bitterly. One of his hands flexed at his side, then curled into a fist. “What do you think you know of love? Love _is_ punishment. All we ever love, we lose.”

I sat back in my chair. Maybe I didn’t have his lived wisdom, but I knew that was a lie. My loves would always be a part of me. I called a glimmer of light, let it play over my fingers, glide over my wedding ring. “You’re as stuck with me as I am with you. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Aleksander — the Darkling — lifted his head. His expression was inscrutable, an impossible mask. “We’ll see,” he said again. A threat, a promise, and a concession all wrapped in one. Then, “Come, it’s time for the parade. Your public awaits.”

I nodded, tucked the light safely into my palm, and stood. We would wield love like a weapon, as we wielded everything else. Maybe I could use mine as a pry bar to wrest him off the throne. But even if I couldn’t, he knew me now. He knew whose side I was on. He knew that I would fight. What kind of policy I’d make. Whether I would help him hunt my friends. What I would do if the rebellion reached the palace gates.

For now, it was enough.

I slipped my arm through his, and together we went to celebrate a century of our reign.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! We made it. The end of this story. Is it The End for this universe? It's hard to say! I've started brainstorming about picking up with these crazy kids three years later, but I'm not making any sequel promises just yet ( _I've learned my lesson_ ). If you follow me on Twitter or Tumblr, feel free to pop in and ask me anything about how Aleks and Alina are doing — headcanons galore.
> 
> Anyway, watch this space, and please let me know what you thought of this story now that it's over! I haven't written a ton of other Grisha fic to dive into yet, but I do have _[The Shadow Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939732/chapters/49782965)_ , a crossover with The Folk of the Air series. If you enjoyed this fic, you may also like that one.
> 
> Thanks are in order, of course: first and foremost, to [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkofthemoon), my beta for this fic, who read and corrected this whole damn thing. [HouseOfFinches](https://twitter.com/houseoffinches), a confidante on this story and its accidental artist-in-residence. [Lady-Ekaterina-de-Mika](https://lady-ekatherina-de-mika.tumblr.com/post/628083601228070912/alina-starkov-for-the-grishaversebigbang-our), [Veneziarts](https://veneziarts.tumblr.com/post/628072029923475456/alina-and-the-darkling-for-grishaversebigbang) and [ZrSio22](https://zrsio22.tumblr.com/post/628074141404332032/an-evening-at-the-ballet-this-is-my-piece-for-this), my artists for the 2020 [Grishaverse Big Bang](https://grishaversebigbang.tumblr.com/). [Halle](https://twitter.com/reylographer) and [Lilith](https://twitter.com/lilithsaur) for creating awesome fanworks for this fic! Audrey for being the first Tumblr pal I've made in a while, and Nicky for making me giggle with her tags. All of you who've left comments, whether once or every week. Anybody on social who's said a single kind word about this fic. And of course, the Squad, who've kept be going during this weird, dark time.
> 
> You can still listen to the [playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5oVtULoqQYrSMknlvuTHeE?si=L_OxR6xaQ7W8stz6Sw12Ng), and it may even make more sense now that Alina's arc is complete!
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic) and [Tumblr](https://judeling.com/) and here in the comments, for as long as I can keep up with them. If you want to recommend this fic to others, please share the [promo](https://judeling.com/post/628071976719777792/out-of-time-an-this-is-my-fic-for-this) [posts](https://twitter.com/destiniesfic/status/1300827689629089798)! Thank you so much for reading. ♥


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